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CASSANDRA 


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BY 

JULIET  WILBOR  TOMPKINS 

Author  of  DR.  ELLEN 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1909,  fry 
THE  BAKER  &•  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


First  edition,  January,  1909 
Second  edition,  March,  1909 


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STORIES  are  usually  told  from  the  standpoint 
of  some  one  person;  you  are  shown  the  events 
as  the  hero  saw  them,  or  the  maiden  aunt,  or  the 
god  from  the  car.  The  greater  part  of  this  story 
has  to  be  told  from  the  standpoint  of  the  great 
central  living-room  of  Dr.  Caspar  Diman's  vast, 
old-fashioned  mansion,  for  it  was  there  that  nearly 
everything  happened.  The  house  with  its  three 
acres  of  sweet,  untidy  garden  had  come  to  him 
through  his  wife  —  her  one  appreciable  contribu- 
tion to  his  life,  unless  a  measure  of  his  growth  in 
the  way  of  patience,  forbearance  and  loving-kind- 
ness be  put  down  to  the  credit  of  the  shallow, 
peevish  spirit  that  called  them  forth.  She  might 
have  made  a  saint  of  him  in  time,  but,  fortunately, 
she  had  been  taken  away  after  three  years,  leaving 
her  husband  still  possessed  of  a  few  energetic 
failings,  such  as  a  somewhat  arbitrary  fashion  of 
making  decisions,  and  a  suicidal  carelessness 
about  money. 

The  house,  built  in  the  mansard  roof  and  black 
walnut  period,  showed  few  marks  of  that  reign 


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of  banality  except  for  the  vastness  of  its  rooms; 
any  one  of  these  might  have  comfortably  enclosed 
an  ordinary  modern  cottage,  while  the  central 
living-room  could  have  swallowed  a  boarding- 
house  with  ease.  At  a  time  when  all  fashionable 
front  doors  opened  on  a  strip  of  hall  with  folding 
doors  leading  right  and  left  into  square  parlours, 
someone  had  conceived  a  front  door  opening 
widely  from  the  garden  into  a  great  oblong  apart- 
ment —  the  hall  and  the  two  parlours  in  one. 
Entering,  one  faced  the  massive  stairway  that 
rose  in  a  dignified  curve  against  the  opposite  wall, 
leaving  room  at  one  end  for  a  door  leading  to 
the  passage  connecting  dining-room  and  kitchen, 
and  at  the  other  for  glass  doors  opening  on  the 
verandah.  Patients  came  in  this  way,  and  sat 
uneasily  on  the  benches  placed  just  inside,  trying 
to  seem  unconscious  of  one  another  and  folding 
their  lips  into  lines  of  awkward  solemnity  when 
their  sidelong  glances  met.  A  fireplace  and 
bookcases  occupied  the  right-hand  wall,  while 
the  left,  an  amazing  distance  away,  was  largely 
taken  up  by  folding  doors  that  opened  into  the 
doctor's  office.  The  inlaid  floor,  made  of  the 
narrowest  possible  boards,  alternately  light  and 
dark,  had  pushed  up  here  and  there  into  tiny 
hillocks  with  age,  and  the  plumpness  of  the  leather 
cushions  and  chairs  was  slowly  oozing  away 


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through  their  broken  corners;  yet  it  was  a  pleasant 
and  even  a  distinguished  shabbiness  that  per- 
vaded, a  shabbiness  that  could  dignify  various 
tight  bouquets  of  mingled  geraniums  and  nastur- 
tiums that  must  have  set  the  teeth  on  edge  in  a 
smaller  atmosphere,  and  lend  a  sort  of  grand- 
motherly grace  to  the  vast  hangings  of  dull  maroon 
rep,  that  still  showed  a  line  of  crimson  under  the 
fringe. 

Streaming  sunlight  gave  an  air  of  peace  and 
serenity  that  Dr.  Diman's  entrance  from  his 
office  did  not  dispel.  He  had  five  engagements 
to  keep  in  the  next  two  hours,  but  no  one  would 
have  supposed  that  he  had  anything  more  impor- 
tant on  hand  than  the  fastening  in  his  buttonhole 
of  a  small  red  rose  from  the  trellis  by  the  window. 
Years  before,  in  the  brief  period  when  he  had 
worn  a  flower  because  his  wife  picked  it  for  him, 
a  very  sick  woman  had  said : 

"Your  rose  always  makes  me  feel  that,  after  all, 
there  is  some  hope  and  comfort  and  pleasantness 
in  the  world.  It  does  me  good  every  time  you 
come." 

He  had  remembered  it,  as  he  remembered  every- 
thing, little  or  big,  that  had  human  significance, 
and  ever  after,  in  season  and  out,  had  managed 
to  wear  the  small  emblem  of  cheerfulness  on  his 
coat.  It  was  usually  a  carelessly  shabby  coat. 

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Dr.  Diman  was  not  yet  forty,  and  the  vigour  of 
youth  still  straightened  his  shoulders  and  empha- 
sized his  step;  but  it  was  ten  years  since  he  had 
begun  to  forget  that  trousers  should  be  creased 
and  boots  kept  on  boot-trees,  that  eye-glasses  have 
more  distinction  than  spectacles,  and  that  a  hat 
which  has  met  the  storms  of  three  winters  may 
lack  something  to  the  critical  eye.  Yet  his  shab- 
biness  was,  like  that  of  his  house,  touched  with 
distinction.  People  were  fond  of  telling  him 
that  he  looked  like  General  Grant,  a  fact  that 
interested  him  not  at  all,  though  his  short  brown 
beard  might  have  seemed  intended  to  emphasize 
the  resemblance.  He  was  curiously  lacking  in  the 
typical  marks  of  his  years.  Side  by  side  with 
the  grown  man  could  still  be  seen  the  honest, 
affectionate  little  boy  from  whom  he  had  started, 
while  already,  on  the  other  side,  was  foreshadowed 
the  wise  and  benignant  old  man  in  whom  he 
should  end;  and  these  two  presences  seemed 
sometimes  to  meet  in  him,  blurring  his  right  to 
any  momentary  position  on  the  scale  that  runs  up 
to  threescore  and  ten,  and  putting  him  on  a  level 
with  all  ages.  There  were  people  —  as  a  rule,  not 
well  known  to  him  personally  —  who  called  him 
a  crank.  It  is  only  fair  to  add  that  his  sister  Myr- 
tle, who  had  kept  his  house  ever  since  his  wife's 
death,  eleven  years  before,  took  the  same  view. 

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She  came  in  as  he  was  settling  his  rose,  headed 
anxiously  for  the  kitchen.  Miss  Myrtle's  house- 
keeping expression  was  ever  that  of  one  who  has 
just  heard  a  distant  crash  of  china,  or  who  smells 
something  burning.  She  moved  as  hurriedly  as 
her  weight  permitted,  but  it  could  be  seen  that  her 
soul  went  ahead,  and  was  already  at  the  kitchen 
door  with  some  life  and  death  message  for  the 
ice  man  or  the  grocer. 

"Oh,  Myrtle!"  Her  brother  accosted  her 
casually,  though  a  half  smile  lurked  behind  his 
spectacles.  "We  are  not  using  the  big  southeast 
bed-room,  are  we?" 

She  stopped  as  though  struck,  and  the  dropping 
of  her  stout  arms  at  her  sides  showed  that  no 
casual  tone  could  hoodwink  her. 

"Caspar!  7s  it  another  nervous  prostrate?" 
she  cried. 

"No."  He  was  obviously  a  little  sorry,  but  not 
at  all  afraid  of  her. 

"An  inebriate  or  a  morphine  fiend?" 

"Neither." 

"Not  St.  Vitus's  dance  again?"  Her  tone  in- 
timated that,  if  it  were,  she  should  simply  die, 
and  he  took  pity  on  her. 

"No:  this  time  it  is  a  handsome  and  entirely 
healthy  young  woman." 

She  knew  him  too  well  to  accept  comfort.  "It 
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is  another  case,  just  the  same  —  you  needn't  tell 
me!  Why  you  have  to  bring  home  every  stray 
cat  and  lame  dog  you  come  across — !  What  is 
she,  anyway?" 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  haven't  time  to 
tell  you,  now.  She  will  act  as  my  office  assistant 
and  take  charge  of  the  telephone  —  that  will  be  a 
relief  to  you,  won't  it?"  His  tone  encouraged  a 
glimmer  of  cheer,  but  she  only  sighed.  "She  will 
be  here  late  this  afternoon,  and  her  name  is  Cas- 
sandra Joyce,"  he  added  as  he  went  out. 

Cassandra  Joyce!  Miss  Myrtle  needed  no 
more  telling.  That  was,  of  course,  the  cousin 
who  had  come  from  Paris  to  live  with  Miss  Emily 
Joyce,  a  week  before  her  sudden  death.  Caspar, 
who  had  been  called  in  consultation,  had  spoken 
pityingly  of  the  girl  at  the  time  —  his  sister  might 
have  foreseen  what  was  coming!  Cassandra 
Joyce,  daughter  of  a  multi-millionaire  whose 
fortunes  had  fallen  with  a  reverberating  crash 
three  years  ago,  and  who  had  taken  a  short  cut 
out  of  difficulty  and  disgrace  with  a  bullet;  a  girl 
brought  up  to  every  luxury  and,  no  doubt,  straight 
from  the  home  of  some  rich  friend,  coming  here  to 
go  through  the  farce  of  earning  her  living  —  this 
was  a  little  too  much.  Her  important  errand  to 
the  kitchen  forgotten,  Miss  Myrtle  still  sat  where 
she  had  dropped,  gloomily  facing  the  situation. 

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It  was  never  a  simple  situation  for  the  house- 
keeper in  the  spreading,  old-fashioned  mansion 
which  Dr.  Diman  called  his  home,  but  which  in 
his  sister's  opinion  might  more  fittingly  be  called 
a  combination  of  Rescue  League,  Snug  Harbour, 
Sanitorium,  and  Sheltering  Arms.  She  had  kept 
house  for  him  eleven  years,  and  every  year,  in 
her  phraseology,  "he  got  worse."  She  could  not 
accept  him  as  incurable,  and  the  average  man 
must  have  grown  propitiatory  or  irritable  after 
eleven  years  of  her  poignant  dismay;  but  Caspar 
smiled  at  her  protests,  offered  up  no  argument, 
and  went  his  chosen  way  without  so  much  as  an 
extra  crease  in  his  forehead  on  her  account.  At 
this  moment  a  superannuated  French  chef,  who 
had  kept  his  pathetically  charming  manners,  but 
lost  large  tracts  of  his  memory,  was  presiding  in 
the  kitchen  with  the  exquisite  humility  of  a  fallen 
monarch;  and  what  comfort  was  it  to  know  that 
the  puree  might  be  perfect,  when  one  knew  also 
that  it  might  come  in  with  its  main  ingredient 
forgotten?  Though  a  teacher  has  had  remark- 
able success  with  children,  it  does  not  necessarily 
follow  that,  after  a  physical  breakdown,  she  is 
entirely  successful  in  light  housework;  even  now 
the  trail  of  Ann  Blossom's  willing  but  vague  duster 
could  be  seen  in  a  broad  sweep  across  the  grey 
film  on  the  centre  table.  A  professor  of  botany, 

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whose  eyes  need  a  year's  rest,  may  have  a  minute 
knowledge  of  a  garden's  needs,  but  does  that 
keep  him  from  leaving  the  hose  running  all  night 
or  dropping  cakes  of  loam  from  his  heels  every 
time  he  enters  the  house?  Add  to  this  hybrid 
domestic  staff  a  wealthy  forlornity  who  thought 
she  paid  for  what  she  was  getting,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  a  helpless  spoiled  girl  to  be  looked  after  - 

"Well,  if  it  wasn't  for  Hattie,  I'd  give  up," 
concluded  Miss  Myrtle  heavily.  Hattie  was  bel- 
ligerently able-bodied  and  she  came  for  wages, 
nothing  else.  "Deliver  me  from  gratitude  ser- 
vice!" was  the  final  sum  of  the  housekeeper's 
experience. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the  household 
when  it  was  known  that  the  daughter  of  Sidney 
L.  Joyce  was  coming  there  as  a  paid  assistant. 
Ann  Blossom,  hearing  of  it  from  Hattie,  set  down 
her  dustpan  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  (where  its 
contents  were  presently  blown  in  four  directions 
by  the  breeze  from  Miss  Myrtle's  skirt)  and  flew 
down  to  tell  Ernest  Cunningham,  who  was  tacking 
up  a  clematis  vine  outside  one  of  the  living-room 
windows.  He  took  off  his  black  glasses,  as  he 
usually  did  when  Ann  came  running  with  news, 
and  dropped  down  on  the  top  of  the  ladder  with  an 
air  of  tranquil  satisfaction.  Ernest  never  knew 
who  anyone  was,  and  had  to  be  told  the  story  of 

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Sidney  L.  Joyce's  wealth  and  downfall  —  as  set 
forth  in  Hattie's  version  —  before  he  could  fully 
savour  the  news.  Ann,  with  her  palms  on  the 
window-ledge,  balanced  on  her  stiffened  arms, 
stood  with  her  head  between  the  vines.  She  had 
a  thin,  sweet  face,  with  wide,  unworldly  grey 
eyes  that  might  have  been  those  of  a  martyr  for 
a  high  cause  if  they  had  not  always  shone  so  inno- 
cently with  happiness.  There  was  some  indefin- 
able similarity  between  her  and  the  long,  pale, 
brown-haired  young  man  watching  her  so  con- 
tentedly from  the  ladder.  One  felt  that  they 
belonged  to  the  same  phase  of  spiritual  sensitive- 
ness and  worldly  inexperience. 

"Just  think,  a  millionaire's  daughter  earning 
her  own  bread  and  butter,"  Ann  marvelled. 
"Isn't  it  romantic?" 

"Now,  just  what  do  you  mean  by  romantic?" 
And  Ernest  clasped  his  fingers  about  one  thin 
knee  with  an  air  of  settling  down  to  solid  enjoy- 
ment. Ann  refused  the  challenge  with  a  little 
backward  shake  of  her  head,  as  though  she  liter- 
ally tossed  it  off. 

"Don't  — I  won't!"  she  laughed.  "It  is  ro- 
mantic, and  you  know  it.  Think  of  having  lived 
like  a  princess  till  you  were  grown  up,  and  then 
all  at  once  becoming  Cinderella!" 

"Exceedingly  hard  lines,  I  should  say." 
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"Oh,  it  is,  it  is!  I  am  so  sorry  —  but  one  can't 
help  being  interested,  too,  can  one?"  The  fear 
that  she  had  seemed  heartless  strained  her  face 
until  she  saw  that  he  was  smiling  at  her. 

"You  needn't  explain,  Ann  Blossom.  I  under- 
stand," he  said,  cutting  one  of  the  doctor's  little 
red  roses  and  laying  it  on  the  window-ledge  be- 
side her  hand.  "We  must  do  what  we  can  to 
make  it  easier  for  your  Cinderella.  Is  she  good 
looking?" 

"Oh,  of  course;  beautiful.  She  would  have  to 
be.  Wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  some  charming  rich 
man  came  here  to  be  treated,  and  he  fell  in  love 
with  her!"  Ann's  eyes  were  shining  at  the  pros- 
pect. Ernest  passed  a  thoughtful  hand  over  his 
smooth  brown  hair. 

"I  don't  suppose  a  professor  of  botany's  salary 
would  quite  do,"  he  suggested.  Her  transparent 
face  showed  a  momentary  blankness;  then  she 
laughed,  rather  breathlessly. 

"Why,  it  might,"  she  said  cheerfully,  turning 
away.  "Yes,  I  don't  see  why  not.  Now,  I  must 
go  and  finish  my  work." 

"You  are  forgetting  your  rose,"  he  called  after 
her  through  the  window.  She  was  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  and  she  did  not  turn  back. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  time  for  roses  now,"  she  said 
lightly.  He  leaned  in,  his  elbows  on  the  sill. 

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"Ann  Blossom,  please  come  and  get  your  rose," 
he  begged  humbly,  holding  it  out.  She  just 
glanced  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"Keep  it  for  Cinderella,"  she  said,  and  ran 
up- stairs;  but  her  face  was  bright  again.  The 
emptied  state  of  her  dustpan  puzzled  her  until 
she  looked  at  the  surrounding  floor.  Then  she 
laughed. 

"You  are  a  bad  little  dustpan,  not  to  take 
better  care  of  your  dust,"  she  said  indulgently. 
"Ann  won't  trust  you  another  time."  And  she 
blithely  fell  to  sweeping  again. 

Even  in  the  kitchen  the  news  of  Miss  Joyce's 
coming  produced  a  sensation.  When  Dr.  Diman, 
returning  at  noon,  dropped  down  in  the  living- 
room  to  look  over  his  letters,  a  lean  and  stooping 
figure  in  a  chef's  white  coat  and  cap,  gleamingly 
fresh  for  the  occasion,  appeared  in  the  doorway,  one 
hand  crushing  the  other  against  his  bowed  chest  in 
the  extremities  of  apology  as  a  faint  cough  craved 
attention.  The  doctor's  smile  was  affectionate. 

"Come  in,  Ronsard.    What  is  it?" 

Ronsard's  cap  was  lifted  from  his  dignified 
white  locks.  "If  monsieur  le  docteur  will  permit 
me,  I  come  to  make  a  request." 

"Fire  ahead!" 

"I  thank  you.  I  am  told  that  a  young  lady 
comes  to  the  house  to  stay  —  Mile.  Joyce.  It  is 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

a  great  event  to  me,  monsieur.  I  was  chef  in  her 
father's  house  for  five  years.  Ah,  he  was  a  very 
grand  gentleman!  'Ronsard,'  he  would  say  to 
me,  'there  is  not  a  chef  in  New  York  who  can 
cook  a  bird  as  you  can!'  I  do  not  know  why  he 
should  think  that;"  Ronsard  smiled  deprecation, 
a  bony  brown  hand  curved  modestly  over  his 
white  moustaches;  "I  merely  did  as  I  knew  how 
—  my  little  talent  was  very  humble.  When  the 
guests  would  say,  'Mr.  Joyce,  there  is  no  cook 
like  your  Ronsard,'  I  had  to  think  it  was  their 
kindness.  I  could  not  explain  it  otherwise." 

Dr.  Diman  smiled  encouragement,  though 
vaguely,  half  his  attention  being  drawn  away  by 
the  letter  in  his  hand.  "Yes,  indeed,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"A  very  great  sorrow  befell  me  and  I  went  away 
while  mademoiselle  was  still  a  little  girl,  but  she 
will  not  have  forgotten  Ronsard;"  the  old  chef 
straightened  as  though  he  saluted  his  glorious 
past.  "I  come  now  to  my  request.  Will  mon- 
sieur le  docteur  permit  that  I  serve  the  dinner 
with  some  slight  additions  in  honour  of  Mile. 
Joyce?" 

"Why,  of  course:  excellent  idea!  Do  your  best 
for  her." 

Ronsard  bent  his  head  with  a  noble  sweep  of  the 
cap  he  held. 

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"I  thank  monsieur!"  Then,  as  Miss  Myrtle's 
step  sounded  in  the  hall  above,  his  grandiloquence 
abruptly  collapsed,  and  he  backed  hurriedly  into 
the  doorway.  "The  materials  will  be  but  slight. 
If  the  docteur  would  perhaps  say  to  mademoiselle 
his  sister  that  he  has  given  permission — ?"  he 
ventured  softly. 

"Yes,  I  will  speak  of  it.  It  will  be  all  right, 
Ronsard,"  the  doctor  promised.  His  eyes  looked 
sorry,  which  was  perhaps  the  most  endearing  of 
all  their  many  warm  expressions.  They  often 
carried  that  look  when  one  of  amusement  might 
have  been  expected. 

He  told  Myrtle  at  once,  causing  her  to  stop 
blankly  on  the  stairs  with  dropping  arms. 

"Caspar,  I  think  that  is  perfectly  crazy,  to 
start  her  off  with  a  dinner  party,"  she  lamented. 
"The  girl  will  think  she  is  here  simply  as  a  guest." 

"Oh,  come  off,  Myrtle,"  was  the  good-humoured 
response. 

"The  question  is,  will  she  come  off?  Or  will 
she  stay  up  in  the  air  while  I  do  her  work?"  She 
came  slowly  down,  a  step  at  a  time.  "If  you  had 
to  do  the  housekeeping  for  a  wreek,  Caspar,  you 
would  understand.  What  with  Miss  Snell  burst- 
ing into  tears  whenever  the  toast  comes  in  but- 
tered, and  dashing  off  to  lie  down  between  every 
course,  and  Ann  Blossom  forgetting  to  come  to 


OPEN  HOUSE 

meals  and  losing  everything  she  lays  hands  on, 
and  Mr.  Cunningham  — 

"I  know,  Myrtle.  I  fully  appreciate  it.  And 
if  you  find  that  it  is  getting  too  much  for  your 
nerves  - 

The  last  word  had  a  magical  effect.  Miss 
Myrtle  stiffened  and  straightened:  her  plaintive 
voice  took  on  an  unexpected  force. 

"Nerves!  I  have  asked  you,  Caspar,  never  to 
use  that  word  in  connection  with  me.  I  am  a 
perfectly  healthy  woman,  and  I  have  no  nerves." 
She  seemed  to  be  addressing  some  unseen  audience. 
"I  can  eat  what  is  set  before  me,  and  I  can  sleep 
even  if  there  is  a  wrinkle  in  my  sheet,  or  a  dog 
two  miles  off  takes  to  barking.  I  don't  know 
what  a  nerve  is."  And  she  passed  on  towards 
the  garden  with  head  indignantly  erect.  Her 
brother's  expression  was  covertly  wicked  as  he 
returned  to  his  letters. 

At  four  o'clock  three  trunks  arrived,  and  were 
taken  up  to  the  big  southeast  chamber  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs.  It  was  the  most  desirable  bed-room 
in  the  house,  and  had  been  Dr.  Diman's  until  he 
had  given  it  up  to  a  case  of  incipient  melancholia 
that  he  had  brought  home  one  autumn,  five  years 
before.  The  patient  had  gone  away  in  the  spring 
well,  and  Caspar  had  credited  over  half  the  vic- 
tory to  the  sunlight  that  poured  through  the 

14 


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leafless  chestnuts  by  day,  and  the  evening  blaze 
of  logs  on  the  generous  hearth.  So  he  had  kept 
the  room  for  his  cases  ever  since,  much  to  Miss 
Myrtle's  disapproval.  The  three  trunks  made 
no  more  impression  on  it  than  so  many  footstools. 
At  half  past  four  they  were  followed  by  a  box, 
•obviously  containing  an  offering  of  flowers.  At 
five  Miss  Emily  Joyce's  carriage  made  what  was 
perhaps  its  last  trip  of  state,  and  the  doctor  threw 
back  the  door  to  Miss  Cassandra  Joyce. 

Cinderella  was  beautiful,  as  Ann  Blossom  had 
declared  she  must  be;  more  beautiful,  perhaps,  at 
first  glance  than  at  second  or  third,  when  one 
had  had  time  to  resist  the  imperious  assurance  of 
her  bearing,  collect  one's  scattered  faculties  and 
venture  on  an  independent  judgment.  Yet  per- 
haps it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  be  critical  of  a 
young  woman  who  was  so  obviously  indifferent  to 
what  others  might  be  thinking.  The  good  side 
of  such  indifference  is  practical  efficiency,  the  bad 
side  insolence:  both  qualities  were  to  be  discerned 
in  the  poise  of  Miss  Joyce's  head,  her  straight 
glance,  and  the  rather  too  straight  line  of  her  lips. 

She  greeted  her  employer  with  the  careless 
friendliness  of  a  well-disposed  sovereign,  and, 
dropping  into  the  largest  chair,  gave  him  a  rapid 
commentary  on  the  badness  of  American  roads 
and  the  banality  of  American  life.  Caspar,  who 


OPEN    HOUSE 

had  no  social  fluency,  stood  silent  and  wholly  at 
his  ease,  smiling  down  on  her  with  the  air  of  one 
who  waits  for  inevitable  preliminaries  to  be  dis- 
posed of.  His  attitude  presently  had  its  effect, 
for,  pulling  off  her  long  gloves,  she  spread  her 
jewelled  fingers  to  cool  them  and  asked  with  a 
sigh  of  impatience: 

"Now,  what  is  it  that  I  am  supposed  to  do?" 

He  welcomed  the  topic  by  drawing  up  a  chair. 
"Do  you  know  what  the  duties  of  a  doctor's 
assistant  are?"  he  began. 

"I  do  not." 

"Well,  then,  neither  do  I,  so  we  start  even." 
She  had  to  grant  him  a  brief  smile,  his  good-will 
was  so  genuine. 

"You  said  something  about  a  telephone,"  she 
reminded  him. 

"Yes,  and  that  is  important."  He  became 
business-like  at  once,  seeing  that  she  would  prefer 
it.  "If  you  will  always  answer  it,  and  be  careful 
about  messages,  you  will  make  my  sister's  lot 
very  much  easier.  And  I  need  someone  to  be 
here  at  office  hours;  patients  are  nervous  critters 
and  a  sensible  woman  could  make  things  much 
easier  for  them.  I  have  got  one  staying  in  the 
house  here,  —  Miss  Snell,  a  very  complex  case 
of  neurasthenia."  Warming  to  his  subject,  he 
quite  forgot  to  watch  his  new  assistant's  face. 

16 


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"She  needs  bright,  wholesome  companionship 
more  than  anything  else.  You  can  be  of  great 
service  - 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  gasp  of  laughter; 
Miss  Joyce  had  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands. 
Caspar's  eyes  softened  to  their  very  sorriest  look. 
He  rose  and  stood  beside  her,  offering  his  human 
nearness  for  lack  of  any  other  comfort. 

"I  know;  it  must  be  mighty  queer  to  you." 
His  voice  was  as  warm  as  his  eyes.  "I  am 
glad  you  have  the  courage  to  laugh  instead  of 
cry." 

"I  beg  your  pardon."  She  lifted  her  head 
with  a  frown  for  his  sympathy.  "It  is  really 
rather  novel,  that  is  all.  No  one  has  ever  ex- 
pected me  to  be  useful,  you  see." 

"But  these  last  three  years?"  he  asked  with 
hesitation,  returning  to  his  chair.  "I  understood 
that  you  were  left  - 

"With  nothing  whatever,"  was  the  prompt 
answer.  "But  I  have  been  living  with  a  friend 
in  Paris,  and  she  gave  me  everything." 

His  eyes  fell.  "Was  that  wholly  —  satisfac- 
tory?" he  asked. 

"What  could  I  do?  I  have  no  near  relatives. 
Louisa  isn't  anybody,  socially,  so  it  was  worth 
her  while  to  have  me  —  she  is  very  rich.  I  should 
have  stayed  with  her  indefinitely  if  she  had  not 


OPEN    HOUSE 

chosen  to  marry  again  —  a  most  impossible  little 
person.    I  could  not  stand  that." 

"And  so  you  came  to  America?" 

"Unfortunately,  yes.  Cousin  Emily  Joyce  had 
very  reluctantly  offered  me  a  home,  so  I  —  even 
more  reluctantly  —  accepted  it.  And  the  week 
after  I  arrived,  she  died  —  which  was  exactly 
like  Cousin  Emily.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you  - 
well,  really,  I  don't  just  know  what  I  should  be 
doing  now."  She  studied  him  with  imperious 
curiosity.  "Do  you  tow  home  all  the  derelicts 
you  come  across?  For  you  can't  really  suppose 
that  I  am  of  any  practical  use,  can  you?" 

"I  think  that  you  can  learn  to  be,"  was  the 
emphatic  answer.  "And  I  think  helping  you  to 
learn  that  quite  as  important  as  curing  you  of  a 
bodily  disease  would  be.  Besides,  I  do  very 
much  need  someone  with  a  head  who  can  answer 
letters  for  me  and  write  up  case  records  from  my 
notes.  Oh,  you  will  earn  your  salary,  I  assure 
you." 

"My  salary!"  she  repeated  with  a  short  laugh. 
"Thirty  dollars  a  month  —  I  don't  believe  I  ever 
had  a  hat  that  cost  less  than  thirty  dollars.  How- 
ever- 

Hattie's  voice  interrupted  from  the  doorway, 
where  she  had  planted  herself  with  unembar- 
rassed singleness  of  purpose. 

18 


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"That  Frenchman's  lost  the  salt  pork,"  she 
announced  baldly.  "He  had  it,  and  now  'tis 
gone.  Will  he  go  out  for  some  more,  he  says." 

Dr.  Diman  looked  puzzled.  "Hadn't  you 
better  see  my  sister  about  it?"  he  suggested. 

"Ah,  no!  Ah,  monsieur,  a  thousand  pardons!" 
Ronsard  came  fluttering  down  the  passage,  his 
arms  extended  in  despairing  apology.  "It  was 
but  mislaid  for  a  moment  —  I  have  found  it. 
Monsieur  should  not  have  to  hear  of  such  things. 
I  am  an  old  man  —  I  forget.  I  beg  - 

"Ronsard!"  Miss  Joyce  had  started  from  her 
chair.  "Surely  it  is  Ronsard,  our  Ronsard!"  she 
exclaimed,  going  rapidly  towards  him  with  ex- 
tended hands,  her  face  amazingly  lighted. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle!"  He  bent  until  his  white 
locks  nearly  touched  the  hands  resting  so  warmly 
on  his.  "I  said  in  my  vanity,  'Mademoiselle  will 
not  have  forgotten  old  Ronsard.'  And  see,  it  is 
true!"  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"You  are  here,  living  here?"  she  said  gladly, 
and  Caspar  saw  for  the  first  time  that  she  was 
beautiful:  he  had  thought  her  merely  handsome, 
before.  He  watched  her  intently  as  she  ques- 
tioned the  old  man  in  animated  French  and  told 
him  frankly  of  herself. 

"You  must  talk  with  me  often,  and  I  shall 
feel  that  I  am  not  wholly  alone  in  a  strange 

19 


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place,"  she  said  finally,  giving  him  her  hands 
again. 

"Ah,  it  is  a  great  honour  that  mademoiselle  still 
has  room  in  her  heart  for  old  Ronsard,  —  even 
though  she  finds  him  in  quest  of  the  salt  pork," 
he  added  with  rueful  humour. 

Her  laugh  was  quick  and  warm.  "I  am  glad 
you  found  it,"  she  said,  returning  to  her  chair. 
"That was  a  pleasant  surprise,"  she  added,  looking 
at  Caspar  with  more  friendliness  than  she  had  yet 
shown. 

"I  am  so  glad!  And  I  think  there  is  another 
in  your  room.  I  saw  what  looked  like  a  very 
gorgeous  box  of  flowers  carried  up  not  long  ago." 

Her  face  clouded  instantly:  he  had  a  sense  of 
being  abruptly  shut  out  in  the  cold  again. 

"Oh,  that,"  she  said  with  a  shrug  that  sug- 
gested distaste.  "Now,  is  there  anything  else 
you  wish  to  explain  to  me?" 

"I  think  the  rest  can  wait  till  morning." 

"Very  well;"  she  rose  with  weary  determina- 
tion. "I  don't  pretend  that  this  is  more  than  a 
temporary  arrangement,  but  while  I  am  here  I 
will  try  to  be  what  you  want.  Now,  I  should  like 
to  go  to  my  room.  Will  you  send  a  maid  to 
unhook  me?" 

He  looked  a  trifle  bewildered.  "We  have  no 
maids  for  unhooking,  I  am  afraid.  If  it  is  any- 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

thing  Ann  Blossom  can  do  for  you  —  she  is  a 
very  dear  girl  who  is  living  here  for  the  present  — " 

"No;  I  am  afraid  she  would  fumble.  I  can't 
bear  to  have  untrained  people  touch  me."  And 
Miss  Joyce  turned  to  the  stairs.  "I  will  manage 
some  way." 

"Here  is  my  sister:  she  will  show  you  your 
room,"  said  Caspar  relievedly  as  Miss  Myrtle 
made  a  reluctant  appearance.  However  Myrtle 
might  protest  beforehand,  he  could  count  on  a 
dignified  courtesy  from  her  when  the  situation 
was  irrevocable.  When  the  door  of  the  southeast 
chamber  had  closed  on  his  new  case,  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  he  stood  staring  after  her  with  one 
hand  clasping  the  back  of  his  neck,  his  outer  sign 
of  perplexity. 

"Well,  she's  honest,"  he  mused  with  a  faint 
sigh.  Then  her  face,  lighted  with  an  old  affec- 
tion, rose  before  him.  "Oh,  she'll  learn,  poor 
girl,  she'll  learn!"  He  turned  to  his  office,  but 
paused  absently  with  his  fingers  on  the  knob. 
"If  only  it  were  something  simple,  like  tuber- 
culous meningitis!"  he  murmured.  Then,  hear- 
ing a  trailing  step  on  the  verandah,  he  slipped 
through  the  door  and  closed  it  noiselessly  after 
him. 

The  glass  doors  opened  and  a  thin,  middle- 
aged  woman  came  slowly  in,  her  arms  filled  with 

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a  varied  collection  of  comforts,  including  a  cush- 
ion, a  shawl,  a  parasol,  two  books,  a  cologne 
bottle,  a  thermometer,  and  a  hot- water  bag;  it 
being  part  of  the  doctor's  system  that  Miss  Snell 
should  wait  on  herself.  Her  face  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  sallow  mask  of  melancholy,  set 
incongruously  between  an  old-fashioned  patch  of 
little  sandy  curls  above,  and  a  spreading  bow  of 
bright  plaid  ribbon  below.  Even  as  she  languidly 
backed  against  the  door  to  close  it,  Ann  Blossom 
came  running  in  by  another  way  with  her  shi- 
ning face  of  news. 

"Oh,  Miss  Snell,  did  you  see  her?"  she  whis- 
pered eagerly. 

Miss  Snell  paused  and  looked  patiently  at  the 
girl  over  her  load.  "And  just  whom  do  you 
mean  by  'her,'  Miss  Blossom?" 

Ann  was  a  little  abashed.  "Oh,  I  thought  you 
would  remember;  we  were  all  talking  about  her 
after  breakfast,"  she  explained.  Miss  Snell  per- 
mitted herself  to  understand. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  Miss  Joyce.  She  passed 
me  as  she  came  in,  but  I  did  not  notice  her  espe- 
cially." 

"Oh,  she's  lovely,  Miss  Snell!"  Ann's  enthu- 
siasm could  not  long  be  kept  down.  "Perfectly 
beautiful!  And  she  didn't  look  poor  at  all. 
There  was  stunning  lace  on  her  coat  and  - 

22 


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"Irish  lace  is  very  common,"  interrupted  Miss 
Snell. 

"But  it  is  pretty,"  Ann  ventured.  "And  such 
a  strange  hat  —  it  was  probably  very  Parisian ! 
Do  you  suppose  that  fluffy  thing  on  the  side  was 
a  bird  of  paradise?  I've  read  of  them." 

Miss  Snell  shifted  her  load  and  turned  towards 
the  stairs.  "My  dear  Miss  Blossom,"  she  pro- 
tested, "the  doctor's  assistant's  hats  are  a  little 
out  of  my  range  of  vision.  She  may  wear  what- 
ever she  pleases  so  long  as  she  makes  the  house 
run  a  little  more  smoothly.  My  hot  water  this 
morning  tasted  of  the  kettle,  and  the  —  oh,  dear, 
I  must  lie  down!"  She  dropped  her  load  into 
the  nearest  chair  and  made  an  abrupt  dive  for 
the  couch,  where  she  arranged  herself  perfectly 
flat.  "And  the  toast  was  sent  in  buttered,"  she 
concluded  in  righteous  protest.  "It  is  time  now 
for  my  third  hot  water,  but  I  don't  suppose  any- 
one will  remember  it." 

"I  will  get  it,  Miss  Snell,"  Ann  was  beginning 
when  Miss  Myrtle  appeared  with  a  cup  on  a  small 
tray,  which  she  silently  placed  on  a  table  beside 
Miss  Snell. 

"I  hope  this  does  not  taste  of  the  kettle,"  the 
latter  said,  sniffing  anxiously  at  the  cup.  Miss 
Myrtle  gave  her  a  look  of  resigned  contempt  and 
went  heavily  out  without  answering.  Miss  Snell, 

23 


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who  was  quite  impervious  to  silent  looks,  because 
she  never  saw  them,  tasted  critically  from  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  spoon.  "It  does  taste,"  she 
worried.  "Not  kettle  this  time — no,  and  it 
isn't  smoke."  She  tasted  again  and  again,  with 
growing  distress.  "  It  isn't  —  onions  —  it's  —  it's 
-gas!  It  tastes  of  gas!  Now,  isn't  that  out- 
rageous ?  I  do  think  —  I  might  have  —  hot 
water  that  didn't  taste  of  —  gas!  It  isn't  —  much 
—  to  ask!"  And  she  burst  into  nervous  tears, 
while  Ann  Blossom  stood  by  in  helpless  dismay, 
timidly  patting  the  couch. 

The  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  opened  and 
Cassandra  Joyce,  fresh  and  elaborate  in  embroi- 
dered linen,  with  white  shoes  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings and  a  spreading  lavender  orchid  pinned  on 
her  blouse,  swept  down  the  stairs.  At  sight  of 
the  quivering  figure  on  the  couch  she  stopped, 
startled. 

"Is  something  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"Miss  Snell  is  a  little  upset,"  explained  Ann 
Blossom  compassionately.  "She  will  be  better 
in  a—" 

Miss  Snell  rose  on  one  elbow,  holding  out  a 
shaking  hand  towards  the  cup.  "I  wish  some- 
one to  taste  that  hot  water  and  see  if  it  is  fit  to 
drink!"  she  cried.  "I  want  witnesses:  I  want  - 

"But,  my  dear  lady,"  Miss  Joyce  interposed, 
24 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"hot  water  is  never  fit  to  drink.  If  you  must  take 
it,  why  don't  you  add  a  little  Scotch?" 

The  speech  seemed  to  shock  Miss  Snell  into 
composure.  She  slowly  drew  herself  up  and  put 
her  feet  to  the  floor. 

"You  can  know  very  little  about  nervous 
invalids,  Miss  Joyce,"  she  said  coldly,  while  Ann 
Blossom,  looking  frightened,  took  the  cup  and 
disappeared  in  search  of  a  fresh  brew. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Cassandra  shrugged.  "I 
have  just  spent  a  week  with  one." 

"You  did  not  continue  with  her,  I  notice." 
That  shot  did  Miss  Snell  so  much  good  that  a 
wise  person  would  have  let  her  enjoy  it;  but 
Cassandra  Joyce  was  very  far  from  wise. 

"Well,  no.  She  died,"  was  the  placid  answer. 
Miss  Snell  rose. 

"You  were  fortunate  to  get  another  situation 
so  quickly,"  she  said,  with  the  blandness  of  a 
nervous  woman  who  has  declared  war  to  the 
knife.  "I  confess  I  hope  that  you  have  had  more 
than  one  week  of  experience  in  filling  a  position?" 
The  word  "situation"  did  have  its  effect:  Cas- 
sandra's eyes  widened  over  a  silent  gasp.  Then 
she  laughed,  without  venom,  but  nevertheless 
wickedly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  rather  stimulated  by  the 
fact  that  a  pleasant  looking  young  man  had  come 

25 


OPEN    HOUSE 

in  from  the  garden  and  was  hesitating  deferen- 
tially to  obtrude  himself.  "On  the  boat  coming 
over  I  acted  as  companion  to  a  person  who  was 
crossing  alone.  It  was  a  most  satisfactory  ar- 
rangement —  it  quite  paid  for  the  trip.  I  have 
testimonials  to  prove  what  a  success  I  was." 
And  her  hand  touched,  lightly  and  contemptuously, 
the  lavender  orchid  on  her  blouse. 

"I  could  never  understand  why  people  hire 
companions,"  commented  Miss  Snell,  beginning 
to  gather  up  her  belongings.  "I  suppose  your 
employer  was  nervous  at  travelling  alone." 

"He  did  not  seem  to  be,"  said  Cassandra. 

"He?"  sharply.     "Some  invalid,  I  suppose?" 

Cassandra  picked  up  a  magazine  and  looked 
interestedly  at  the  frontispiece. 

"Oh,  no  —  perfectly  well  and  strong,"  she  said 
absently.  Miss  Snell  stared,  then  turned  and 
went  up-stairs  without  a  word.  Cassandra  slowly 
lifted  her  head,  and  met  the  pleasant  brown  eyes 
of  Ernest  Cunningham.  After  a  faint  pause,  she 
allowed  herself  to  smile.  Ernest  was  laughing 
softly  to  himself  as  he  bowed  ceremoniously  and 
passed  up  the  stairs. 

"He  looks  rather  possible,"  she  concluded. 

The  shrubbery  was  sending  warm  breaths  of 
rose  and  honeysuckle  through  the  open  windows. 
Cassandra,  left  alone,  seated  herself  on  a  window- 

26 


OPEN    HOUSE 

ledge  and  looked  from  the  shabby  old  room  to  the 
shabby  old  garden,  wondering  sadly  at  her  lot. 
What  was  she  doing  here,  she,  Cassandra  Joyce! 
Her  head  drooped  under  the  dreariness  of  the 
answer.  To  Caspar,  coming  in  from  his  office, 
she  looked  surprisingly,  even  pathetically  young. 
Her  youth  had  heretofore  been  rather  obscured 
by  the  sweeping  dominance,  not  to  say  aggres- 
siveness, of  her  bearing,  and  this  sudden  vision 
of  a  bewildered  and  homesick  girl  was  enlighten- 
ing. She  turned  at  his  step,  straightening  de- 
fensively. 

"Do  you  like  your  room?"  he  asked,  seating 
himself  in  the  adjoining  window.  She  met  his 
look  of  good-will  with  one  of  grave  inquiry. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered  absently.  "I  have 
been  wondering  about  you,"  she  added.  "Are 
you  a  reformer?" 

He  laughed.  "Why,  I  don't  know:  it  has 
never  occurred  to  me  to  ask.  It  is  perfectly  pos- 
sible." 

"But  I  always  supposed  a  reformer  was  a  very 
dreadful  person." 

"Well,  I  assure  you,  I  am  a  very  dreadful  per- 
son, now  and  then." 

Her  smile  was  worth  waiting  for:  it  made  an- 
other creature  of  her.  "Oh,  not  the  way  I  mean. 
I  like  you,  you  know."  A  princess  could  not  have 

27 


OPEN    HOUSE 

said  it  more  simply,  or  with  a  more  naive  betrayal 
that  she  conferred  a  favour.  Caspar,  accustomed 
to  the  honourable  respect  of  colleagues  and  the 
somewhat  doting  devotion  of  patients,  found  her 
refreshing.  His  eyes  were  amused,  yet  he  was 
not  a  little  gratified. 

"I  am  very  glad,"  he  answered  quite  as  simply. 
"I  hope  you  are  going  to  like  us  all." 

A  faint  shrug  was  her  only  answer  to  that.  She 
had  pulled  a  spray  of  roses  towards  her  to  smell 
it,  and  the  action  showed  a  red  mark  on  the  inside 
of  her  arm,  just  above  the  wrist. 

"Why,  you  have  hurt  yourself,  lately,"  he 
commented.  She  drew  her  sleeve  down  over  the 
place. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  indifferently.  "Louisa's 
gown  caught  on  fire  a  day  or  two  before  I  left." 

"And  you  put  it  out?" 

"Well,  she  went  into  hysterics,  and  her  future 
husband  ran  —  for  water,  he  said  afterwards;  so 
I  naturally  had  to.  She  was  annoyed  with  me 
later  for  having  used  her  most  valuable  Persian 
rug,  when  there  were  cheaper  ones  at  hand." 

He  gave  an  exclamation  of  impatience.  "What 
a  woman!" 

"She  was  quite  right,"  was  the  tolerant  answer. 
"The  other  rugs  were  just  as  near:  it  simply 
proved  that  I  had  lost  my  head  a  little.  I  should 

28 


OPEN    HOUSE 

remember  another  time.  It  is  unforgivable  to  lose 
one's  head,  don't  you  think?" 

"Unforgivable?  Assuredly  not.  You  speak 
with  the  insolence  of  perfect  health,  my  dear 
young  woman.  Suppose  your  nerves  were  like 
so  many  crossed  wires  —  " 

"Indeed,  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  of  non- 
sense talked  about  nerves,"  she  broke  in  with 
authority.  "When  I  feel  that  way,  I  know  it  is 
nothing  in  the  world  but  my  bad  temper.  I  could 
control  it  perfectly  well  if  I  had  a  big  enough 


reason. 
u 


What  would  you  call  a  big  enough  reason?" 
he  asked,  abandoning  his  point  with  an  indulgence 
that  evidently  reached  her,  for  she  gave  a  brief 
laugh  at  herself. 

"I  forgot  that  I  was  talking  to  a  famous  nerve 
specialist,"  she  apologized.  "That  is  just  like 
me,  you  know  —  to  set  you  right  on  your  own 
subject."  She  was  very  attractive  at  that  mo- 
ment, leaning  towards  him,  her  face  lit  with  an 
amused  self-derision.  "But,  frankly,  don't  you 
think  it  is  true  —  that  women  get  behind  their 
nerves  as  an  excuse  for  their  own  hatefulness? 
You  need  never  excuse  me  on  the  ground  that  I 
' couldn't  help  it.'  I  always  could." 

"For  'a  big  enough  reason,'"  he  reminded  her. 
"I  want  to  know  what  that  would  be." 

29 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Her  eyes  fell  away  from  his,  and  again  he 
realized  that  she  was,  after  all,  only  a  girl,  and 
tragically  ill  equipped  for  the  struggle  before  her. 

"Why,  if  I  had  enough  to  gain  by  it,"  she 
began  slowly.  He  waited  with  surprising  eager- 
ness. 

"Or—  ?"  he  prompted. 

"Or  —  if  I  cared  enough  for  anyone,"  she 
admitted.  His  quick  smile  enveloped  her  like 
sunshine. 

"Ah,  you  will  get  on,"  he  exclaimed  irrelevantly. 
"I  am  so  glad  you  came  my  way!" 

She  wondered  at  him  silently  for  a  moment. 
"I  think  you  really  must  be  a  reformer,"  she  con- 
cluded as  Hattie  appeared  in  the  doorway,  grasp- 
ing a  small  dinner-bell  in  an  uncompromising  fist. 

Not  even  Ronsard's  charming  additions  to  the 
dinner  could  quite  fuse  the  varied  elements  of 
that  strange  household.  Ann  and  Ernest  were 
reduced  to  shy  silence  by  the  splendid  stranger, 
while  Miss  Snell  talked  with  pointed  exclusive- 
ness  to  Dr.  Diman,  as  to  the  sole  equal  vouch- 
safed her.  Miss  Myrtle  was  too  tensely  expectant 
of  a  blunder  in  the  cooking  or  the  service  to  have 
any  attention  for  unrelated  topics:  her  anxious 
gaze  hovered  prayerfully  over  each  dish  cover, 
and  her  whispered  cautions  and  directions  to 
Hattie  would  have  driven  a  less  stolid  soul  insane. 

30 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Hattie  stumped  on  her  appointed  way  without 
even  a  pretence  of  heeding,  piled  the  plates  after 
her  own  notions  of  convenience,  and  left  the  room 
when  she  considered  that  she  had  done  enough. 

"That  girl!"  sighed  Miss  Myrtle.  "If  she  were 
not  such  a  splendid  worker - 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  shriek  from  Miss 
Snell,  a  shriek  that  brought  them  all  to  their  feet. 
She  had  started  up,  her  skirts  wrapped  about  her, 
her  face  agonized. 

"There  is  a  cat  in  the  room!"  she  cried. 

"Good  Lord!"  muttered  Cassandra,  sinking 
emphatically  into  her  chair  again.  Miss  Myrtle's 
face  echoed  the  expression,  but  the  others  began 
looking  under  the  tablecloth  and  the  chairs  with 
kindlv  concern. 

"  Where,  Miss  Snell  ?  Did  you  see  it  come  in  ?  " 
Caspar  asked. 

"No-o-o.  I  feel  it,"  she  gasped.  "Besides, 
I  heard  it  meow."  They  searched  the  room 
with  honest  zeal,  but  no  intruding  cat  was  found. 
"I  couldn't  be  mistaken,"  she  persisted  tearfully, 
still  clinging  to  her  skirts.  Cassandra,  who  had 
risen  perfunctorily  and  turned  towards  the  win- 
dow, lifted  her  hands  to  stifle  a  sudden  cry  of 
laughter.  On  the  gravel  path  outside  sat  a  tiny 
grey  kitten,  a  smug,  replete  little  kitten  with  its 
impertinent  triangle  of  a  face  tilted  up  at  the 

31 


OPEN    HOUSE 

windows,  as  though  in  wonder  at  the  commotion 
within;  a  wholly  enchanting  kitten  to  anyone  not 
beset  by  antipathies.  She  made  a  sign  to  Ernest, 
who  was  investigating  the  curtains,  and  he,  too, 
was  shaken  by  silent  laughter  at  the  sight.  He 
slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  a  moment 
later  Miss  Snell  dried  her  eyes  with  a  faint,  re- 
luctant, "It  must  have  gone  away  again,"  and 
returned  to  her  chair.  Cassandra  had  seen  Ernest 
pick  up  the  little  beast  and  rub  his  cheek  against 
it  as  he  carried  it  away,  and  their  eyes  met  with 
amused  understanding  when  he  returned.  He 
certainly  was  rather  possible,  this  pleasant-looking 
young  man.  She  was  sorry  that  after  dinner  he 
announced  an  engagement  and  hurried  off. 

Miss  Snell,  exhausted  by  emotion,  retreated  to 
her  room,  and  Ann  Blossom  followed  to  read  to 
her.  Dr.  Diman  was  called  out,  and  Miss  Joyce, 
after  lingering  before  the  bookcases,  absently 
glancing  at  the  titles  within,  yawned  and  went 
up  to  bed. 

"Oh,  quelle  vie  I"  she  murmured. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Dr.  Diman  let  himself  in  and 
sank  into  a  deep  chair,  running  a  slow  hand  up 
from  his  forehead  into  the  rough,  iron-grey  thicket 
above.  His  face,  even  at  its  tiredest,  never  ex- 
pressed worry.  "Well,  now,  what  can  we  do 
about  it?"  was  his  characteristic  phrase.  If 

32 


OPEN    HOUSE 

wisdom  and  experience  answered,  "Nothing," 
he  instantly  turned  his  inexhaustible  energy  else- 
where. To-night  the  lamplight  showed  him  phys- 
ically fagged  and  grave  with  some  inner  problem, 
yet  fundamentally,  as  always,  at  peace  with  life. 
When  the  dropping  back  of  his  head  lifted  his 
gaze  in  the  direction  of  the  southeast  chamber  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  a  sudden  smile,  dubious, 
compassionate,  yet  wholly  determined,  warmed 
and  lit  his  brown  face.  The  reflection  was  still 
there  when  he  tiptoed  up  the  stairs  a  few  minutes 
later. 

A  light  had  been  left  for  him  in  the  upper  hall. 
He  turned  to  put  it  out,  but  paused  abruptly,  his 
eyes  on  two  slim  shoes  that  had  been  confidently 
placed  outside  the  door  of  the  southeast  chamber. 

They  were  well-shaped  shoes,  beautifully  made : 
beside  his,  as  distinguished  as  a  racing  yacht 
beside  a  coal  barge.  The  doctor  laughed  silently 
as  he  picked  them  up,  contemplated  the  dust  on 
their  tips  and  started  to  carry  them  off  to  his  own 
apartment.  Then  he  hesitated,  slowly  shook  his 
head  and  turned  back.  No  parent  ever  disci- 
plined a  child  more  reluctantly  than  Dr.  Diman 
replaced  those  slim  shoes,  undusted  and  un- 
polished, at  his  new  assistant's  threshold. 


33 


II 

THE  next  day  dawned  in  unseasonable  and 
exhausting  heat,  a  leaden  heat  that  seemed  to 
endow  trivial  objects  with  unexpected  weight 
and  that  took  the  stiffening  out  of  backbones  as 
well  as  out  of  collars.  Cassandra  did  not  appear 
at  the  eight  o'clock  breakfast,  but  not  long  after- 
wards the  following  note  from  her  was  brought 
to  Dr.  Diman :  - 

I  think  I  will  not  begin  my  duties  to-day,  it  is  so  very  warm. 
Will  you  kindly  have  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  fruit  sent  up  to 

me?     I  shall  not  want  anything  else. 

C.  J. 

Caspar  considered  for  at  least  sixty  seconds, 
thoughtfully  pinching  his  lower  lip;  then  his  eyes 
took  on  the  amused  determination  with  which 
they  had  regarded  the  boots  the  night  before,  and 
he  wrote  back :  — 

DEAR  Miss  JOYCE,  — 

It  certainly  is  outrageously  hot.  I  wish  I  could  let  you  off, 
but  I  have  some  case  records  that  I  want  written  up  to-day. 
I  think  you  will  find  the  hall  cooler  than  your  room.  If  you 
will  be  here  at  ten  o'clock,  I  will  show  you  how  to  do  it.  Ann 
Blossom  will  gladly  carry  you  up  some  breakfast,  I  am  sure. 

Faithfully  yours, 

CASPAR  DIMAN. 

34 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Then,  still  covertly  amused,  he  went  in  search 
of  Ann. 

At  ten  Cassandra  appeared,  in  thinnest  white, 
her  expression  leaning  rather  to  insolence  than  to 
practical  efficiency.  If  she  expected  to  be  cajoled 
into  good  humour,  she  was  disappointed.  Dr. 
Diman  was  entirely  the  employer,  brief,  imper- 
sonal, interested  only  in  the  work  to  be  done. 
Neither  languor  nor  wilful  stupidity  could  rouse 
the  faintest  gleam  of  irritation.  He  went  pa- 
tiently over  and  over  the  work  with  her  until, 
having  brains  as  well  as  a  fair  amount  of  educa- 
tion, she  could  no  longer  pretend  not  to  under- 
stand. 

"I  think  you  will  do  it  very  well  indeed,"  he 
commented  finally,  while  she  sat  like  a  simmer- 
ing schoolgirl.  "Keep  on  at  this  until  lunch 
time,  and  don't  forget  to  write  down  all  telephone 
messages.  I  don't  think  you  will  come  across 
anything  puzzling." 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  bag  and  went  to  the 
door,  but  there  he  paused  to  look  back  with  a 
hint  of  a  relenting  smile.  "You  will  find  it  really 
interesting  when  you  get  going,"  he  assured  her 
in  a  quite  different  tone.  His  friendly  persua- 
siveness seemed  only  to  increase  her  resentment: 
she  let  him  go  with  no  reply  beyond  an  expressive 
lifting  of  her  eyebrows.  When  he  had  disap- 

35 


OPEN    HOUSE 

peared,  she  threw  down  her  pen  with  an  angry 
sob. 

"Why  should  /  have  to  do  this?"  she  cried. 

The  sound  of  someone  entering  the  next  room 
presently  made  her  press  her  trembling  lips 
together  and  bend  down  absorbedly  over  her 
writing.  Through  the  folding  doors,  wide  open 
to-day,  she  could  see  Ann  Blossom  tidying  the 
doctor's  office,  wholly  unconscious  of  scrutiny. 
Her  voice,  sweet  and  joyous,  came  with  a  laugh 
as  she  stumbled  over  a  footstool. 

"Little  stool,  if  you  trip  Ann  up  again,  you 
are  going  to  get  into  trouble,"  she  announced, 
righting  it  with  a  reproving  pat. 

Ann's  warmest  admirer  could  not  have  called 
her  methods  of  housework  practical.  First  she 
swept  a  little,  then  dusted,  then  swept  a  little 
more,  then  forgot  to  gather  up  the  dust  in  the 
interest  of  polishing  the  big  silver  inkstand  with 
her  cloth,  one  corner  of  which  was  moistened  for 
the  purpose  in  a  fashion  not  to  be  commended. 
Then  she  drew  the  shades  even,  and  dusted  a 
little  more,  with  an  absent-minded  good-will  that 
presently  resulted  in  an  overturned  jar  of  flowers 
and  a  pattering  stream  of  water.  She  picked  it 
up  with  remorseful  tenderness. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  you  poor  things.  Don't  mind: 
I  will  get  you  some  fresh  water  in  two  minutes." 

36 


OPEN    HOUSE 

But  the  end  of  two  minutes  found  her  lying 
over  the  table  on  her  elbows,  drawn  by  the*  pic- 
tures of  a  new  magazine.  Presently  she  settled 
back  into  a  chair,  bringing  the  magazine  with 
her,  wholly  lost  to  her  surroundings.  Cassandra, 
diverted  and  a  little  irritated  —  for  she  herself 
had  been  born  with  an  instinct  for  businesslike 
methods  —  saw  her  presently  put  out  her  arm 
as  though  she  drew  some  little  body  to  her  side 
and  unconsciously  bend  down  her  cheek.  She 
read  that  way  for  half  an  hour,  and  when  finally 
she  lifted  her  head,  her  first  glance  was  a  smiling 
one  down  by  her  chair.  Then  she  saw  Cassandra 
writing  at  her  desk  in  the  great  hall. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  were  there,  Miss  Joyce," 
she  exclaimed.  "I  am  afraid  I  have  been  mak- 
ing a  great  deal  of  noise.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  to  shut  the  doors?" 

"You  didn't  disturb  me."  Cassandra  pushed 
back  her  work  and  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
head.  "I  wish  you  had,"  she  added  restlessly. 
"I  wish  anything  would  happen!" 

"That  bad  little  cat  happened  again."  Ann 
evidently  considered  the  news  exciting.  "Luck- 
ily, Miss  Snell  was  not  up.  I  took  it  home  and 
told  them  they  really  must  keep  it  there,"  she 
added  with  manifest  regret.  Cassandra  yawned. 

"Why  not  send  Miss  Snell  home  and  keep  the 
37 


OPEN    HOUSE 

kitten?"  she  asked.  Ann  looked  startled,  though 
she  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid  Miss  Snell  needs  us  the  most," 
she  explained. 

"Ah,  you  are  all  so  good  here!"  Cassandra 
protested.  "How  is  a  black  sheep  like  me  to 
fit  in?"  She  looked  very  handsome  and  very 
powerful,  with  one  arm  thrown  over  the  back  of 
her  chair.  Ann's  troubled  eyes  fell. 

"In  what  way  should  you  like  us  different?" 
she  asked.  Cassandra  turned  away  with  an  im- 
patient lifting  of  her  palms. 

"Oh,  it  is  I  that  am  out  of  place.  I  am  not 
ready  for  heaven  yet,  that  is  all.  Heaven  bores 
me."  She  turned  back  to  the  desk,  digging  her 
clenched  hands  into  her  cheeks.  "And  no  doubt 
I  bore  you,  unmercifully,"  she  added,  taking  up 
her  pen  and  going  to  work.  In  the  silence  that 
followed,  Ann's  gaze  returned  again  and  again  to 
the  handsome,  severe  profile.  At  last  she  drew 
breath,  timidly,  for  an  effort. 

"We  could  give  a  tea  for  you,  Miss  Joyce." 

Cassandra  lifted  her  head,  startled.  The  wide, 
sweet  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  with  a  look  so  kind 
and  sorry  that  an  impulse  to  derisive  laughter  was 
abruptly  quenched. 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  me.  I  am  all  right," 
she  said  shortly.  She  tried  to  stop  there,  but  the 

38 


OPEN    HOUSE 

pent-up  storm  had  to  find  expression.  "How  do 
you  stand  it  here?"  she  demanded. 

"Stand  it?  Here!"  Ann  had  only  blank 
amazement  for  the  question. 

"Yes,  here,"  impatiently.  "To  be  poor,  to  be 
nobody,  to  be  off  at  one  side  in  a  hot  hole  without 
a  thing  to  look  forward  to  but  three  meals  a 
day-  '  she  sprang  to  her  feet  —  "do  you  call 
that  living?" 

With  the  clouding  of  Ann's  face  had  come  a 
shade  of  reserve.  "I  think  I  call  it  living  to  be 
under  the  same  roof  with  Dr.  Diman."  Her 
voice  showed  that  she  was  deeply  hurt,  though 
not  for  herself.  "And  to  be  his  friend,  to  have 
his  affection  —  I  call  that  very  much  more  than 
just  living."  A  mist  dimmed  her  eyes.  "Ah, 
wait  till  you  know  him;  then  you  will  under- 
stand," she  said,  and  went  hurriedly  away.  Cas- 
sandra stared  after  her  with  a  disapproving 
frown. 

"So  the  girl  is  in  love  with  him,"  she  concluded. 
"Ah,  me,  I  wish  I  had  someone  to  fall  in  love 
with!"  A  sharp  clenching  of  her  hands  seemed 
to  suggest  need  of  a  victim  rather  than  a  lover. 

She  had  been  working  half  the  morning  in  the 
deserted  living-room  when  the  sound  of  a  motor 
coming  to  a  halt  at  the  front  gate  made  her  glance 
absently  towards  the  open  windows.  Through 

39 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  shrubbery  she  could  see  the  gleam  of  a  tour- 
ing car,  then  its  occupant  as  he  rose  to  alight, 
lifting  his  cap  to  wipe  his  forehead.  Starting  to 
her  feet,  she  shrank  out  of  range  of  the  windows, 
a  look  of  hot  annoyance  in  her  face.  She  waited 
until  the  caller  was  on  the  steps,  for  a  second 
glance,  then  hurried  out  into  the  passage  to  inter- 
cept Hattie. 

"That  is  a  caller  for  me,"  she  explained  as  the 
door- bell  rang.  "Please  tell  him  that  I  am  not 
at  home." 

"I  will  not,"  said  Hattie,  flatly,  though  with- 
out rancour.  "Y'are  home,  ain't  you?"  she 
added  in  explanation  before  the  blaze  of  angry 
astonishment  in  the  other's  eyes  could  find 
words. 

"But  how  utterly  idiotic!"  Cassandra,  tower- 
ing mightily,  might  have  frightened  a  less  intrepid 
soul. 

"A  lie's  a  lie,"  said  Hattie,  baldly.  "I'll  not 
say  y're  not  at  home  when  y'are.  I'll  do  this  for 
you,  though,"  she  added,  as  though  in  compassion 
for  the  girl's  wrath.  "You  run  into  the  yard, 
and  I'll  say  y're  out.  Hurry  along,  or  he'll  be 
ringin'  again." 

"Would  you  object  to  saying  also  that  I  shall 
not  be  in  for  some  time?"  Cassandra  asked  icily. 
Hattie  considered. 

40 


OPEN    HOU'SE 

"I'll  say  I  don't  know  when  you'll  be  In;  for 
that's  true  enough,"  she  conceded.  "There  he 
goes  again  —  scoot  now,  for  I'll  not  say  y're  out 
while  y're  in  this  house." 

Cassandra's  rage  ended  in  laughter  as  she 
slipped  out  by  the  kitchen  and  ran  noiselessly 
round  to  the  verandah,  whence  she  might  hear 
what  happened  at  the  front  door.  Crouching 
behind  a  vine,  she  could  see  Hattie's  stout  back 
through  the  open  glass  doors,  and  hear  an  assert- 
ive male  voice. 

"You  don't  know  when  she  will  be  in?"  it 
was  repeating. 

"No,  sir,  I  couldn't  say." 

The  caller  hesitated,  kicked  impatiently  at  the 
step,  then  left  a  card  and  went  away.  Cassandra 
did  not  leave  her  hiding-place  until  she  heard 
the  distant  departure  of  the  motor.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  her  how  her  action  might  look  until 
she  saw  a  long  figure^in  black  glasses,  with  a  step- 
ladder  over  one  shoulder,  staring  at  her  in  open 
amazement  from  across  the  lawn.  Her  laugh 
was  an  invitation,  which  he  promptly  accepted. 

"I  was  merely  avoiding  a  caller,"  she  explained. 
"Hattie  refused  to  say  that  I  was  not  at  home." 

"Well,  literally,  of  course,"  Ernest  began. 
She  frowned,  shaking  her  head  as  though  a  gnat 
threatened  it. 

41 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"You  are  not  going  to  raise  that  tiresome  ques- 
tion!" she  protested. 

"I  am  afraid  I  was,"  he  said,  courageously, 
though  he  had  flushed  a  little.  She  smiled  with 
sudden  liking  for  him,  and  took  the  trouble  to 
mitigate  her  abruptness. 

"  It  is  too  warm  for  moral  questions,"  she  begged 
off.  "Dear  me,  I  ought  to  go  back;  but  it  is 
too  warm  to  work." 

"It  is  too  warm  not  to,"  Ernest  corrected  her 
with  his  serene  smile.  "Work  is  the  only  thing 
that  makes  such  a  day  bearable." 

"Your  kind  of  work,  perhaps.  My  kind  only 
makes  it  worse.  Why  can't  I  try  yours?" 

"Do  you  think  you  could  roll  a  tennis  court?" 

"Certainly.  I  didn't  know  that  there  was 
one." 

"There  isn't,  really.  I  marked  out  an  imita- 
tion of  one  on  the  lawn,  to  give  Miss  Blossom 
some  lessons.  It  is  very  bad." 

"I  will  come  and  look  at  it."  She  led  the  way 
with  a  reckless  sense  of  escape,  her  heavy  brown 
hair  taking  on  a  reddish  shine  in  the  sunlight, 
her  gown  mistily  white  against  the  grass.  Ernest, 
shouldering  the  ladder,  paused  to  take  off  his 
coloured  glasses. 

Presently  in  the  deserted  hall  the  telephone 
rang,  and  rang  again;  but  no  one  heard  it.  It 

42 


OPEN    HOUSE 

was  ringing  exasperatedly,  an  hour  later,  when 
Dr.  Diman  came  in.  He  took  down  the  receiver 
and  was  greeted  by  a  relieved,  "Well,  Diman,  have 
I  got  you  at  last?" 

" Hello,  McCarthy,"  he  returned.  "Have  you 
been  trying  long?" 

McCarthy,  it  seemed,  had  been  trying  at  inter- 
vals for  an  hour.  Dr.  Diman  disposed  of  his 
business  somewhat  absently;  then,  looking  puzzled, 
he  glanced  into  the  neighbouring  rooms  and 
knocked  at  the  southeast  chamber  hi  search  of 
his  assistant.  Not  finding  her,  he  stepped  out 
on  the  verandah,  and  was  greeted  by  sounds  of 
merriment.  Under  a  huge  maple,  symmetrical 
as  a  pyramid,  sat  Cassandra,  lounging  in  the 
grass  with  her  back  against  the  trunk,  smiling 
indolently  at  Ernest,  who  was  perched  half-way 
up  a  step-ladder,  clasping  one  thin  knee  and  thrown 
back  with  laughter.  It  was  a  cheerful  scene,  but 
Caspar  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  it.  Neither 
benignity  nor  amusement  was  conspicuous  in  his 
expression  as,  after  a  brief  hesitation,  he  turned 
back  to  the  house.  Before  he  could  take  action 
—  and  action  was  very  plainly  foreshadowed  in 
the  closing  of  his  lips  —  the  telephone  rang  again : 
someone  else  had  been  trying  for  an  hour  to  get 
him.  Then  he  had  to  smooth  out  his  frown  as 
Miss  Snell  came  drooping  down  the  stairs. 

43 


OPEN    HOUSE 

None  of  his  cases  mattered  more  to  him  than 
this  melancholy  and  unlovely  derelict.  In  the 
four  months  that  he  had  had  her  under  his  care, 
he  had  put  her  on  her  feet  and  set  her  to  eating 
three  meals  a  day,  achievements  which  five  expen- 
sive sanitoriums  had  failed  to  accomplish.  From 
an  outside  point  of  view,  it  might  not  seem  to 
matter  very  much  whether  Miss  Snell  were  in  or 
out  of  bed;  but  it  mattered  intensely  to  the  doc- 
tor, whose  interest  was  scientific  quite  as  much 
as  humane,  and  who  saw  in  this  measure  of  suc- 
cess vindication  for  certain  beliefs  that  many  of 
his  colleagues  found  violently  irritating.  The  case 
of  Miss  S.  was  to  be  an  important  adjunct  to  the 
next  edition  of  his  book  on  nervous  diseases. 

He  greeted  her  now  with  the  kindly  warmth 
that  was  a  vital  part  of  his  treatment,  and  ac- 
cepted with  alert  interest  some  newspaper  clip- 
pings she  brought.  In  an  inspired  moment  he 
had  once  asked  her,  as  a  service  to  him,  to  collect 
from  the  newspapers  a  certain  class  of  items;  and 
it  was  after  undertaking  this  daily  bit  of  unselfish 
work  that  Miss  Snell  had  begun  to  make  definite 
progress.  The  clippings,  which  concerned  lon- 
gevity, were  carefully  gone  over  and  then  inserted 
in  a  scrap-book.  Her  long,  narrow  face,  which 
seemed  at  first  glance  all  nose,  was  almost  bright 
by  the  time  their  task  was  finished. 

44 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  have  been  thinking  that  I  would  subscribe- 
for  some  western  papers,  too,"  she  suggested. 
"We  might  get  valuable  items."  The  enthusiasm 
of  Caspar's  assent  was  wholly  genuine,  though 
perhaps  it  was  more  for  the  aroused  interest  than 
for  the  plan  itself. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  mighty  interest- 
ing record  here  some  day,"  he  announced,  re- 
placing the  scrap-book  in  its  drawer.  "By 
the  way,  where  is  all  the  family  this  morning?" 
he  added.  "The  house  seemed  deserted  when  I 
came  in." 

"I  believe  Miss  Myrtle  is  occupied  in  the  attic; 
and  Miss  Blossom  is  helping  her.  At  least,  I 
inferred  so  by  the  incessant  tramping  over  my 
head.  I  did  think  that  on  the  third  floor  I  should 
have  quiet." 

"The  attic,  to-day?  How  crazy!"  Caspar 
started  up.  "I  shall  go  and  drag  them  down." 

"Dr.  Diman  —  one  moment,  please."  Miss 
Snell's  sallow  face  flushed.  "There  is  something 
I  must  speak  about.  Are  you  sure  that  this  Miss 
Joyce  is  quite  a  suitable  person  to  introduce  into 
your  household?" 

"Why,  I  think  so.  Why  not?"  Her  lips 
seemed  to  be  gathered  up  with  a  drawing-string: 
she  said  nothing.  "Of  course,  she  is  new  to  our 
ways  and  will  make  blunders,"  he  went  on,  "but 

45 


OPEN    HOUSE 

I  believe  that  there  is  fine  stuff  in  the  girl.  She 
will  come  out  all  right." 

The  drawing-string  relaxed  sufficiently  for  a 
sharp,  "I  fear  you  are  credulous,  Dr.  Diman." 

He  leaned  against  the  stairpost  and  folded  his 
arms  across  his  chest.  "Tell  me  just  what  you 
mean,"  he  urged  kindly.  The  smouldering  griev- 
ance flamed  in  her  little  sickly  eyes. 

"I  go  simply  by  what  she  herself  says.  She 
boasted  in  my  hearing  that  she  crossed  the  ocean 
in  company  with  a  gentleman.  What  do  you 
say  to  that?" 

The  doctor's  smile  was  a  relieved  one.  "Why, 
I  should  say  he  was  a  lucky  fellow,"  he  answered, 
cheerfully. 

"I  do  not  think  you  are  speaking  sincerely," 
was  the  cold  rebuke. 

"Oh,  come,  Miss  Snell,  she's  an  American 
girl,  you  know." 

"Three  years  in  Paris  can  affect  even  an  Amer- 
ican girl,  you  will  discover.  She  gave  me  to 
understand  that  he  paid  the  expenses  of  her 
trip." 

Caspar  became  suddenly  grave.  "If  that  were 
true  the  way  it  sounds,  do  you  think  she  would 
be  very  likely  to  boast  of  it?  She  has  not  had 
much  show  to  amount  to  anything,  but,  take  my 
word  for  it,  she  is  sound  fundamentally.  She  is 

46 


OPEN    HOUSE 

in  a  hard  position;  I  think  we  shall  all  have  to 
help  her  a  little  —  don't  you?" 

"I  doubt  if  I  can  be  of  much  assistance."  Miss 
Snell  turned  away  and  affected  to  look  for  a  vol- 
ume in  the  bookcase.  "The  young  woman  seems 
to  be  quite  equal  to  any  emergency." 

Caspar's  troubled  gaze  fell,  and  so  chanced  to 
encounter  a  small  object  lying  under  a  chair. 
He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  faded  rag,  all  that 
remained  of  the  spreading  lavender  orchid  that 
Cassandra  had  worn  the  night  before.  It  had 
suited  her  so  well  that  he  had  given  it  little  thought 
at  the  time,  but  now  its  luxurious  suggestion 
brought  an  unwelcome  question.  Then,  as  her 
deep,  rapid  voice,  careless,  imperious,  yet  with 
some  intangible  note  of  honesty,  came  in  through 
the  open  doors,  he  tossed  the  flower  into  the 
waste-basket  with  a  shrug  and  went  up  to  scold 
his  sister.  He  should  have  stayed  to  scold  his 
assistant,  but  he  had  a  sudden  conviction  that  he 
could  accomplish  that  task  better  after  he  had 
had  his  luncheon. 

It  is  not  easy  to  rebuke  a  young  woman  of 
Cassandra's  bearing,  who  shows  no  faintest 
consciousness  of  having  been  delinquent.  Only 
a  man  of  Caspar's  perfect  singleness  of  purpose 
could  have  confronted  the  prospect  so  placidly  as 
he  ate  his  hearty  luncheon.  He  wanted  Cassan- 

47 


OPEN    HOUSE 

dra  to  grow  into  certain  realizations,  for  the  good 
of  the  world  in  general  and  of  herself  in  particular: 
how  he  himself  might  appear  in  the  process  of 
bringing  this  about  never  crossed  his  mind.  His 
entire  absence  of  self-consciousness  was  always 
an  important  element  of  his  power  over  beings 
and  events.  Those  who  called  him  a  crank 
complained  that  he  sometimes  lacked  a  sense  of 
the  ridiculous. 

The  household  scattered  after  luncheon.  Sev- 
eral headaches  were  evident:  Ernest  was  paying 
for  the  removal  of  the  dark  glasses;  Ann,  white 
and  wilted,  for  Miss  Myrtle's  zeal  about  the 
state  of  the  attic.  Cassandra  spent  some  mo- 
ments in  selecting  a  novel,  and  started  for  her 
own  room  in  the  wake  of  the  others. 

"Oh,  Miss  Joyce,  I  shall  want  you  down  here;" 
Dr.  Diman  was  writing  a  letter  with  a  fountain 
pen,  a  book  balanced  on  his  knee  serving  for  a 
desk,  and  he  spoke  without  lifting  his  eyes.  Cas- 
sandra paused,  pressing  her  novel  to  her  side  with 
her  elbow. 

"What  for?"    Her  tone  was  impatient. 

"I  will  explain  in  a  minute.  Suppose,  mean- 
while, you  go  on  with  those  records.  You  don't 
seem  to  have  covered  much  ground  this  morn- 
ing." 

She  stood  perfectly  still.  Some  electrical  tensity 
48 


OPEN    HOUSE 

in  the  silence  suggested  that  if  he  met  her  eyes 
there  would  be  an  explosion.  But  he  wrote 
busily  on,  without  looking  up,  obviously  without 
the  least  concern  for  the  effect  of  his  words. 
Presently  she  came  slowly,  somewhat  rigidly, 
down  and  seated  herself  at  the  desk  with  her 
hands  pointedly  idle  in  her  lap.  Caspar  turned 
a  page  and  wrote  on,  peace  and  power  enthroned 
on  his  wide  brow;  the  steel  strength  of  his  broad 
frame  was  evident  even  in  the  movement  of  his 
hand  across  the  paper.  A  third  page  was  begun: 
Cassandra  flung  back  her  head  with  an  exasper- 
ated clenching  of  her  fingers.  Nevertheless,  be- 
fore the  page  was  turned  again,  she  had  taken 
up  her  pen  and  gone  to  work.  He  left  her  alone 
for  ten  minutes  longer;  then  she  suddenly  found 
him  standing  beside  her,  his  hands  in  his  coat 
pockets,  his  eyes  both  kind  and  sorry. 

"Miss  Joyce,  we  must  understand  each  other  a 
little  better,"  he  began.  Her  mouth  stiffened 
defensively,  but  he  was  undismayed.  "You  see, 
you  have  never  worked  before,  so,  naturally,  you 
don't  know  anything  about  being  —  hired."  He 
smiled  over  the  last  word,  but  her  straight  gaze 
was  unrelentingly  stony.  "It  means  a  great  many 
things  that  are  unpleasant  at  first,  I  suppose. 
You  can't  sell  your  time,  you  know,  and  have  it, 
too.  I  urged  you  to  come  here  because  I  thought 

49 


OPEN    HOUSE 

it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  us  both,  and  I  am 
sure  it  will  be.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  look  on 
the  work  as  an  imposition  on  my  part,  or  a  favour 
on  yours.  Don't  you  see  that  that  isn't  reason- 
able?" 

She  kept  obstinately  silent  at  first,  but  he  waited. 
Then  the  storm  broke. 

"Reasonable!"  Her  voice  trembled  with  pas- 
sionate contempt,  "What  do  I  care  about  rea- 
sonable! I  can  only  see  that  my  life  has  come  to 
an  end  —  what  is  there  here  for  a  woman  like 
me?  I  thought  it  was  bad  enough  with  Louisa, 
but  at  least  I  had  Paris !  How  can  you  expect  me 
to  endure  this  little  bourgeois  hole  with  frumps 
and  school-teachers  for  companions?  Reason- 
able! Oh,  good  God!" 

He  was  desperately  sorry,  but  unshaken.  "It 
won't  seem  like  that  to  you  in  a  little  while  — 
take  my  word  for  it,  it  won't,"  he  told  her  ear- 
nestly. "But  if,  after  a  fair  trial,  you  still  hate 
it,  I  shall  be  the  last  person  to  urge  your  staying. 
I  will  help  you  as  best  I  can  to  get  established 
somewhere  else.  I  promise  you  that." 

"But  where  —  what  can  I  do?"  Her  rage  had 
abated,  but  she  would  not  be  conciliated.  "I 
have  no  relatives  to  speak  of  —  none  that  I  can 
stand.  And  those  who  might  have  helped,  lost 
too  much  money  by  my  father's  failure;  they 

5° 


OPEN    HOUSE 

naturally  don't  feel  impelled  to  house  his  daughter. 
No,  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  die.  I  do 
wish  I  could." 

"You  are  too  thorough  a  sport  to  say  or  think 
that,"  he  protested.  "A  girl  with  your  bearing 
isn't  a  quitter." 

"Oh,  words,  words!"  She  flung  out  her  hands 
in  exasperation.  "I  will  do  the  work  —  I'll  stick 
it  out  for  a  week  or  two,  anyway.  But,  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  expect  me  to  be  a  good  girl 
and  love  my  task.  I  know  what  I  want,  and  it 
isn't  here  —  that  is  all  there  is  about  it.  All  the 
kind,  wise,  high-class  talk  in  the  world  isn't 
going  to  make  an  atom  of  difference.  Can't  you 
see  that  for  yourself?" 

His  answer  was  a  counter  question.  "If  you 
can't  stick  it  out  —  what  then?"  She  turned 
away  with  a  defiant  narrowing  of  her  eyes. 

"We  will  see  when  the  time  comes.  Now,  do 
you  want  me  to  go  on  with  those  records?" 

"Yes,  for  the  next  few  days.  Don't  work  after 
four  o'clock."  He  would  have  lingered,  but  she 
had  pointedly  gone  to  work,  so  he  accepted  his 
dismissal  and  closed  the  door  of  his  ofhce  between 
them.  Nothing  had  been  said  about  the  tele- 
phone, after  all. 

Few  patients  came,  for  Dr.  Diman's  fame  as  a 
nerve  specialist  had  long  ago  forced  him  to  give 

Si 


OPEN    HOUSE 

up  general  practice.  Cassandra  had  a  dim  idea 
of  punishing  him  by  working  until  dinnertime, 
but  when  he  hurried  off,  an  hour  later,  his  mind 
was  so  obviously  remote  from  her  and  her  martyr- 
dom that  she  abandoned  the  idea  and  stopped  on 
the  first'  stroke  of  four.  The  neat  pages  of  the 
record  book  began  to  look  imposing,  but  she 
would  have  died  rather  than  admit  a  pride  in 
them. 

As  she  rose,  ill  luck  directed  Miss  Snell  down 
the  stairs  in  search  of  the  faint  breeze  that  had 
begun  to  stir  the  garden.  Her  hands  were  so 
filled  with  bottles,  cushions,  and  books  that  she 
was  quite  justified  in  asking  help  in  regard  to  the 
linen  parasol  in  the  closet  under  the  stairs.  But 
her  manner  of  asking  it  was  unfortunate,  espe- 
cially as  addressed  to  Cassandra.  The  doctor's 
assistant  looked  at  her  coolly  from  head  to  foot, 
then  turned  to  the  wall  and  pulled  an  old-fash- 
ioned crimson  bell  rope,  coeval  with  the  rep  cur- 
tains, that  had  been  left  hanging  more  as  a  bit  of 
local  colour  than  for  any  practical  purpose.  Miss 
Snell's  face  became  a  dull,  even  red  under  its 
patch  of  little  sandy  curls. 

"Perhaps  I  am  mistaken,  Miss  Joyce,  in  sup- 
posing that  you  are  employed  here?"  Her  cour- 
tesy was  excruciating.  "Dr.  Diman  certainly 
gave  me  to  understand  - 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Mademoiselle  rang?"  Ronsard  was  hovering 
in  the  doorway,  looking  agitated.  Never  before 
in  his  experience  had  the  house  bell  rung,  and  a 
bony  brown  hand  had  to  be  pressed  over  his  heart 
to  quiet  it. 

"Oh,  Ronsard, — thank  you  for  coming." 
Cassandra's  tone  could  be  wonderfully  sweet. 
"Miss  Snell  would  like  the  linen  parasol  from 
under  the  stairs  brought  out  to  her  in  the  garden. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  so  kind?" 

"But  surely  —  with  the  greatest  willingness!" 
His  wide-armed  bow  was  received  by  Miss  Snell's 
rigidly  departing  back,  but  his  courtesy  was  proof 
against  anything;  it  would  not  even  let  him  look 
puzzled.  "If  my  old  eyes  can  but  distinguish 
it  -  'he  was  fumbling  helplessly  in  the  closet, 
and  Cassandra,  having  routed  the  enemy,  came 
to  his  aid. 

"Here  it  is,  and  thank  you,  Ronsard.  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  do  without  you,"  she  said  in 
French,  and  he  went  off  beaming,  offering  to  the 
shrubbery  the  little  bows  that  rose  up  like  bubbles 
from  his  deeply  gratified  spirit. 

By  dinner  time  a  strong  breeze  was  sweeping 
through  the  house,  scattering  headaches  and 
bringing  everyone  down  refreshed  in  spirit.  Dr. 
Diman  had  not  returned,  but  Miss  Myrtle  plain- 
tively explained  just  what  housekeeping  would 

53 


be  if  they  attempted  to  wait  meals  for  him.  It 
was  not  a  very  satisfying  dinner,  for  Ronsard  had 
quite  forgotten  to  put  the  roast  in  the  oven  until 
Hattie  asked  for  it  with  a  view  to  setting  it  on  the 
table. 

"I  am  sure  nobody  wants  hot  meat  after  such 
a  day,"  was  Ann  Blossom's  cheerful  comment, 
and  indeed  no  one  did,  but  Miss  Myrtle  could 
not  be  comforted.  Even  after  they  had  left  the 
table  the  topic  continued. 

"If  you  had  to  do  the  housekeeping  for  a  few 
days,  you  would  understand  what  I  go  through," 
she  was  assuring  them,  when  a  burst  of  thunder 
seemed  to  crack  the  sky  just  over  their  heads, 
letting  fall  a  torrent  of  rain.  Miss  Snell  gasped 
and  fled  to  her  room,  having  a  theory  that  the 
great  hall  chimney  made  that  spot  especially 
dangerous;  and  Miss  Myrtle  panted  after  her 
to  attend  to  the  windows.  Ann  Blossom  stood 
in  the  doorway,  trying  to  listen. 

"He  will  be  so  wet,"  she  worried.  Cassandra's 
glance  was  impatient;  people  in  love  always 
seemed  to  her  a  little  absurd. 

"Perhaps  he  will  have  sense  enough  to  stay 
under  cover,"  she  suggested. 

"He  won't,"  said  Ann,  positively.  She  con- 
tinued to  watch  there,  with  occasional  excursions 
to  the  end  of  the  verandah,  while  Cassandra 

54 


OPEN    HOUSE 

settled  herself  by  an  open  window,  head  tilted 
back  and  arms  thrown  out  to  invite  the  fragrant 
coolness.  Ernest,  after  wandering  about  for  a 
few  minutes,  came  to  a  temporary  halt  beside 
her,  perching  on  the  arm  of  a  chair.  She  let  her 
eyes  rest  on  him  without*  troubling  to  turn  her 
head. 

He  had  pleased  her  that  morning,  this  guileless, 
intelligent  young  man  who  had  challenged  her 
to  definitions  with  the  assurance  of  a  school- 
master, and  answered  imperious  questions  about 
himself  with  the  trustful  simplicity  of  a  little  boy. 
She  had  taken  a  whim  to  know  about  his  past 
life,  and  apparently  nothing  in  it  had  been  hidden 
from  her.  The  meagre  tale  of  poverty  and  work, 
with  its  pitiful  triumph  of  a  professorship  at  an 
obscure  college,  had  oppressed  and  angered  her, 
for  the  difference  between  nothing  a  year  and 
twelve  hundred  a  year  seemed  to  her  scarcely 
worth  considering,  certainly  not  at  all  worth 
such  heart-breaking  efforts;  and  his  good-hu- 
moured satisfaction  with  his  lot  was  in  her  eyes  a 
species  of  stupidity.  Yet  he  was  nice  to  look  at, 
in  spite  of  his  thinness  and  his  scholarly  pallor, 
and  his  manners,  though  old-fashioned  and  a 
trifle  too  formal,  were  nevertheless  manners,  and 
so  gave  him  a  touch  of  social  grace  sadly  lack- 
ing in  Dr.  Diman.  On  the  whole,  he  was  an 

55 


OPEN    HOUSE 

acquisition,  and  she  welcomed  him  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  an  open  window  is 
not  the  safest  place  in  a  thunder-storm,"  he 
began.  Her  gaze  went  back  to  the  flashing, 
resounding  night. 

"It  would  be  a  very  easy  death,"  she  answered, 
indifferently. 

"But  why  die?"  he  demanded,  kindling  at  the 
hope  of  an  argument. 

"Why  not?"  she  returned.  It  baffled  him  for 
a  moment. 

"You  don't  really  mean  that,"  he  protested. 
She  looked  amused. 

"People  always  say,  'You  don't  mean  that,'  I 
notice,  when  they  happen  not  to  agree  with 
you." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  mean  what  you  imply,  you 
must  defend  it;"  and  he  settled  down  to  the  topic 
with  his  hands  clasped  about  one  knee,  com- 
bative enthusiasm  in  his  pleasant  face.  Her  lids 
drooped  expressively. 

"It  is  too  much  trouble,"  she  murmured. 

"There  he  is,"  cried  Ann,  darting  out.  She 
brought  Caspar  in  with  a  hand  on  his  drenched 
shoulder,  scolding  him  affectionately. 

"Now  you  go  and  change  everything  while  I 
get  your  dinner,"  she  commanded,  and  he  dripped 

56 


OPEN    HOUSE 

obediently  up  the  stairs  as  she  flew  off  to  the 
kitchen.  The  smile  with  which  he  had  received 
his  orders  was  irritating  to  Cassandra,  whom  he 
had  not  seen;  it  was  too  warm,  too  wholly  with- 
out reservations.  What  it  expressed  seemed  too 
much  for  a  man  of  his  power  to  expend  on  a 
crude  young  nobody,  no  matter  how  adoring  she 
showed  herself.  One  could  not  especially  value 
the  esteem  of  a  man  who  set  such  store  on  a  mere 
Ann  Blossom. 

"Do  you  like  it  here  as  much  as  Miss  Blossom 
does?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"I  should  say  so." 

"Why?" 

"Why?"  Ernest  meditated.  "There  are  so 
many  reasons.  For  one  thing,  just  knowing  a 
man  like  Dr.  Diman,  seeing  him  every  day  and  - 

"Yes,  yes."  She  moved  her  head  restlessly. 
"I  know  that  reason  —  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  his 
friend,  and  all  that.  But,  besides  that — ?" 

"Well,  Miss  Joyce,  when  a  man  has  no  home 
and  no  capital,  and  he  is  suddenly  told  that  he 
must  stop  work  for  a  year  —  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  to  wonder  what  he  does?" 

"And  so  Dr.  Diman  hired  you  to  look  after 
his  garden?" 

"Hired?  Oh,  dear  me,  no.  He  invited  me  to 
come  here  and  live  until  I  was  ready  for  work 

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again.  I  insisted  on  the  gardening  as  some  small 
return." 

"Then  he  does  not  pay  you?" 

"Indeed,  no.    The  debt  is  all  the  other  way." 

"Does  he  pay  Miss  Blossom?" 

"Why,  he  has  —  helped  her  more  or  less,  I 
believe;  but  not  as  pay  for  services.  She  gives 
those  out  of  pure  gratitude,  and  he  only  lets  her 
because  the  work  does  her  good." 

"He  pays  me,"  said  Cassandra,  after  a  pause. 

"Ah,  well,  that  is  probably  different:"  he  seemed 
embarrassed  by  her  frankness. 

The  doctor  spoke  to  them  as  he  came  down, 
but  went  on  to  the  dining-room  without  pausing. 
Through  the  open  doors  they  could  hear  Ron- 
sard  explaining  with  anguish  the  lack  of  a  roast, 
and  Caspar's  deep  laugh  at  the  news.  Between 
them,  he  and  Ann  evidently  restored  the  old  chef 
to  self-respect ;  there  was  even  a  ghost  of  a  respon- 
sive cackle  as  he  finally  took  himself  off. 

"Why  different?"  asked  Cassandra. 

"I  suppose  our  difficulties  are  more  —  tem- 
porary." Ernest  spoke  reluctantly,  his  eyes 
averted.  "I  shall  go  back  to  my  work  in 
September." 

"And  Miss  Blossom  —  will  she  go  back  to 
hers?" 

A  smile  crossed  his  face,  though  he  dropped  his 
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head  to  hide  it.  "I  am  not  sure  —  that  she  will," 
he  said.  Cassandra  stared  at  him  frowningly. 

"Good  heavens,  does  he  think  Dr.  Diman 
would  marry  that  girl!"  was  her  impatient  com- 
ment; but  she  kept  it  to  herself.  Ann's  joyous 
laugh,  echoed  by  a  deep  note  from  Caspar,  came 
to  them  from  the  dining-room,  moving  her  to 
protest.  "  You  people  here  are  all  so  outrageously 
cheerful!  Even  in  my  good  days,  when  I  had 
everything,  I  didn't  feel  like  that." 

Ernest's  face  brightened  at  the  opportunity  she 
gave  him.  "Ah,  but  had  you  everything?"  he 
asked  triumphantly. 

"Money,  position,  youth,  health,  decently  good 
looks,  freedom  —  I  always  did  exactly  what  I 
pleased;  I  fancy  that  is  about  everything." 

"And  you  were  unhappy?" 

"Oh,  not  in  a  white  rage,  as  I  am  now  most  of 
the  time;  but  I  don't  remember  ever  feeling  — 
well,  as  Miss  Blossom  would,  for  instance,  if  she 
baked  a  cake  and  it  turned  out  eatable;  or  if 
someone  gave  her  a  lace  collar.  I  suppose  I  lack 
a  capacity  for  happiness." 

"I  don't  believe  that,  Miss  Joyce.  The  flaw 
is  in  your  definition  of  'everything;'  you  have 
left  out  the  things  that  count  most." 

"And  what  are  they?" 

"One  of  them  is  work.  For  a  girl  like  you, 
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beauty  and  money  and  all  that  are  not  really 
anything,  after  a  while." 

"How  'like  me'?"  She  had  a  look  of  amuse- 
ment for  this  unsophisticated  young  professor's 
estimate  of  Cassandra  Joyce,  product  of  complex 
experiences. 

"I  may  be  all  wrong,  of  course;"  he  was  evi- 
dently rinding  the  tete-a-te*te  exciting;  "but  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  might  have  business  abil- 
ities, that  you  might  run  something  with  decision 
and  judgment  and  make  a  great  success  of  it. 
I  couldn't,  myself,  at  all;  I  should  potter  over 
details  and  forget  what  I  was  doing.  But  you 
have  —  I  don't  know  —  head,  power  —  some- 
thing like  that.  And  people  who  have  that  are 
not  happy  unless  they  are  using  it." 

She  was  not  displeased  at  the  idea.  "If  I  only 
had  something  worth  running!"  she  commented. 
"Find  me  that  and  I  will  try  your  prescription." 

"But  work  is  only  half  of  my  prescription,  Miss 
Joyce." 

"What  is  the  other  half?" 

"I  should  think  a  young  lady  could  guess." 
The  speech  and  the  little  bow  that  went  with  it 
were  archaic,  professorial.  Cassandra  made  a 
mental  note  to  break  him  of  this  occasional  florid- 
ness,  as  well  as  of  saying  "Miss  Joyce"  so  often. 

"Oh,  love!"  she  shrugged  with  rather  exag- 
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gerated  contempt.  "Do  you  still  romance  about 
that  over  here?" 

"Indeed  we  do.  I  mean  every  kind,  you  know, 
down  to  what  you  give  a  dog." 

"Up  to  what  you  give  a  dog,"  she  corrected 
him.  "I  am  sure  I  have  never  cared  for  a  human 
being  half  as  much  as  I  did  for  my  old  French 
bulldog." 

"Then  I  envy  you;  you  have  the  best  thing  in 
life  still  before  you." 

"How  young  you  are!" 

He  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  "Wait  a 
little,"  he  warned  her.  "You  can't  live  with  Dr. 
Diman  and  not  have  affections  —  it  is  impossible. 
And  once  they  are  started  —  I  am  sorry  we  have 
not  a  dog  for  you  to  begin  on." 

"I  might  begin  on  you,"  suggested  Cassandra. 
He  laughed,  a  startled,  almost  a  shocked,  laugh; 
then  he  took  it  up  with  a  courage  that  showed 
him  capable  of  learning. 

"Excellent  idea!    Pray  use  me  to  any  extent." 

"But  suppose  you  don't  like  me  —  do  I  have 
to  go  on  just  the  same?" 

He  kept  up  bravely.  "I  should  not  worry 
about  that." 

"How  do  I  start?" 

"Well,  instead  of  thinking,  'He  is  only  an  ob- 
scure professor  of  botany,'  you  must  say  to  your- 

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self,  'He's  a  friendly  soul  who  would  take  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  for  my  comfort  or  enjoyment; 
and  he  is  just  as  responsive  to  cordiality  as  if  he 
had  a  tail  to  wag.  How  pleasant  that  is!'  And 
presently  you  will  be  feeling  a  real  affection." 

"What  will  be  the  good  of  that?" 

"What  is  the  good  of  sunlight,  or  an  open  fire? 
Warmth  and  cheer." 

She  considered  him  reflectively.  "You  are 
very  nice,"  she  admitted.  "I  really  think  I 
could  teach  you  a  thing  or  two."  He  was  having 
a  good  many  shocks,  this  young  professor.  For 
an  instant  his  candid  face  betrayed  that  her  teach- 
ing him  was  a  wholly  new  idea ;  but  he  caught  up 
as  nimbly  as  he  had  before. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  Miss  Joyce,"  he  said,  with  his 
little  bow.  "And  if  there  is  anything  I  can  teach 
you  in  return  — " 

"Aren't  you  to  teach  me  how  to  develop  affec- 
tions?" 

"To  be  sure.  It  is  a  bargain,  then,"  and  he 
held  out  his  hand.  To  respond  with  her  own 
bored  Cassandra:  shaking  hands  on  bargains 
seemed  to  her  crude  and  sentimental.  She  let 
her  fingers  rest  in  his  a  scant  second,  and  was 
annoyed  that  she  had  done  so  much  when  she 
realized  that  Dr.  Diman  and  Ann  Blossom  must 
have  seen  the  action  from  the  doorway.  She  rose 

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as  they  entered  and  came  over  to  the  lamp  with 
an  obviously  suppressed  yawn. 

"Have  you  been  dining  all  this  time?"  she 
asked,  turning  over  the  books  on  the  centre 
table. 

"No;  we  have  been  talking."  Caspar's  tone 
was  civil,  nothing  more;  all  the  warm  cordiality 
was  gone. 

"Oh,  what  have  I  done  now!"  was  Cassandra's 
impatient  thought,  and  she  turned  her  back  on 
him.  Ann  Blossom  was  looking  at  her  with  a 
strained  expression  that  flashed  into  her  vivid 
smile  as  their  eyes  met. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  selfish,  keeping 
Dr.  Diman  all  to  myself,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet, 
joyous  voice.  "But  we  were  having  such  a  nice 
time." 

"Mr.  Cunningham  has  been  very  good  about 
amusing  me,"  said  Cassandra,  turning  to  the 
stairs.  "I  am  going  to  let  him  off  now.  Good 
night." 

"I  think  I  shall  go,  too,"  added  Ann.  Ernest 
looked  back  at  her  from  the  window.  "The  rain 
has  stopped,"  he  said.  "Don't  you  want  a  con- 
stitutional on  the  verandah?" 

"Not  to-night.  I  am  too  sleepy."  And  she 
went  up-stairs  humming  softly  to  herself.  Ernest 
soon  followed,  and  Dr.  Diman,  left  alone,  settled 

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down  to  a  pile  of  medical  magazines.  But  he 
did  not  at  once  begin  reading;  and  his  eyes,  lifted 
towards  the  door  of  the  southeast  chamber,  were 
grave  to  the  verge  of  severity. 

At  twelve  o'clock  he  was  roused  from  his  read- 
ing by  quick,  heavy  steps  above.  Miss  Myrtle 
in  a  grey  flannel  wrapper,  her  face  suggesting 
recent  sleep,  came  fumbling  down  the  stairs  in 
distressful  haste,  a  slip  of  paper  in  her  hand. 

"  What 's  up,  Myrtle  ?  "  Caspar  had  started  to 
his  feet. 

"Oh,  Caspar,  is  that  you?  I  forgot  to  order 
the  extra  milk  for  the  pudding  to-morrow  —  it 
woke  me  out  of  a  sound  sleep.  I  sat  right  up  in 
bed,  my  heart  pounding,  just  as  if  someone  ha.d 
called  me,  and  I  had  such  'a  time  finding  the 
matches.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  sleep  again 
for  hours." 

Caspar  dropped  back  in  his  chair  with  expres- 
sive heaviness.  "Why  in  thunder  didn't  you  let 
it  go?" 

"But,  my  dear  brother,  you  can't  have  a  rice 
pudding  without  milk." 

"Have  another  dessert,   then  —  have  fruit - 
anything." 

"But  I  had  said  we  would  have  rice  pudding. 
If  you  knew  more  about  housekeeping,  Caspar, 
you  wouldn't  always  be  finding  fault  with  me." 

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And  Miss  Myrtle  gathered  her  wrapper  about  her 
with  plaintive  dignity.  He  shook  his  head  in 
good-humoured  protest. 

"And  you  had  said  you  would  overhaul  the 
attic  —  so  you  did,  with  the  thermometer  at 
ninety-eight!  Ah,  Myrtle,  if  you  had  only  been 
ten  years  younger  than  I  instead  of  ten  years  older, 
I  might  have  done  something  with  you.  See  here; 
wouldn't  you  be  happier  if  I  got  someone  else  in 
to  do  the  housekeeping?" 

She  stopped  tragically.  "Caspar  Diman! 
Have  you  another  case  up  your  sleeve?  " 

He  laughed.  "No,  on  my  honour,  not  one  at 
the  present  moment."  She  went  on  towards  the 
kitchen  with  a  sigh  of  tempered  relief. 

"Nice  housekeeper  you'd  bring  home  —  fits  or 
melancholia,"  she  muttered.  "By  the  way,  what 
is  Ann  Blossom  doing  up  so  late?"  she  added. 
"I  saw  a  light  under  her  door." 

"You  did?"  Caspar  was  frowningly  con- 
cerned. Then  he  threw  his  pamphlet  sharply 
down  on  the  table.  "No,  Myrtle,  I  am  towing 
home  no  more  derelicts  this  week,"  he  assured 
her,  with  grim  emphasis. 


Ill 

DR.  DIMAN  let  himself  in  and,  with  his  hat  still 
clinging  to  the  extreme  back  of  his  head,  picked 
up  the  pad  on  which  telephone  messages  were 
written.  The  writing  seemed  to  take  more  of 
his  attention  than  the  messages  themselves. 
After  a  thoughtful  moment,  he  gave  a  whistled 
call.  It  was  eagerly  answered,  and  Ann  Blossom 
appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"Hello!"  she  welcomed  him. 

"See  here,  Ann  Blossom!"  He  held  up  the 
pad  with  affectionate  severity.  "How  does  it 
happen  that  I  am  always  finding  your  writing  on 
this  instead  of  Miss  Joyce's?" 

"Oh,  well,  when  I  am  going  to  be  right  here, 
anyway,  I  might  as  well  answer  it,"  she  explained, 
coming  down  in  little  jumps,  her  weight  resting 
on  the  banister.  "It  is  nearly  always  my  sug- 
gestion." 

"Yes;  but  for  you  to  be  'right  here  anyway'  is 
exactly  what  I  don't  want.  You  are  supposed  to 
be  out  of  doors  every  spare  moment,  while  Miss 
Joyce's  health  can  stand  any  amount  of  —  where 
is  she  now?" 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  think  she  is  playing  tennis  with  Ernest;" 
Ann  spoke  brightly,  though  her  eyes  did  not 
meet  his. 

"Oh,  she  is!  Well,  take  yourself  out  of  doors, 
young  woman,  and  on  the  way  tell  her  that  I 
want  her." 

Ann  hesitated,  a  faint  red  showing  through  her 
transparent  skin.  She  took  breath  nervously  to 
speak,  but  he  had  turned  to  Cassandra's  desk 
and  was  inspecting  her  untouched  work  with  a 
gravity  that  made  him  seem  a  person  to  be  obeyed 
without  protest.  Perhaps,  too,  Ann  was  not 
wholly  reluctant,  though  her  hands  were  tremu- 
lous as  she  opened  the  glass  doors.  The  doctor 
had  not  been  so  unconscious  of  her  mood  as  he 
seemed:  he  looked  after  her  with  a  sharp  breath 
of  perplexity  as  he  threw  aside  his  hat  and  ran 
his  fingers  up  into  his  rough  hair.  He  was  lean- 
ing against  the  desk  with  arms  folded  across  his 
chest,  waiting  in  rather  awful  tranquillity,  when 
Cassandra  came  in. 

She  looked  very  handsome  in  her  white  tennis 
shirt,  open  at  the  throat.  Her  heavy,  bright 
brown  hair  was  always  perfectly  in  place;  only 
the  flush  in  her  cheeks  showed  that  she  had  been 
exercising.  Her  glance  was  imperious. 

"You  wanted  me?"  The  question  subtly 
conveyed  a  well-bred  surprise  at  the  summons. 

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"Yes,  I  did."  He  paused,  deliberating  just 
where  he  should  begin,  but  Cassandra,  furious 
at  the  quickened  beat  of  her  own  heart,  refused 
to  wait. 

"Well,  what  have  I  done?"  she  asked  with 
all  the  insolence  she  could  command. 

"I  can't  see  that  you  have  done  much  of  any- 
thing, this  morning,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  She 
came  down  a  little. 

"J  expected  to  write  those  letters  after  lunch," 
she  condescended  to  explain.  "I  did  not  know 
there  was  any  hurry." 

"And  was  there  nothing  else  to  be  done?  I 
thought  we  had  discussed  several  ways  in  which 
you  could  be  of  use."  If  he  had  spoken  impa- 
tiently, it  would  have  been  easier  to  face  him; 
but  he  was  as  calm  as  he  was  inexorable.  She 
dropped  into  a  chair,  occupying  herself  with  a 
palm-leaf  fan. 

"I  did  offer  to  read  to  Miss  Snell,  but  she  re- 
fused —  very  rudely." 

"I  should  rather  like  to  know  in  what  terms 
you  made  the  offer." 

"Certainly."  Her  eyes  flashed.  "I  said,  'I 
will  read  to  you  if  you  will  take  something  decently 
entertaining  and  won't  rock.'  I  simply  cannot 
stand  the  way  she  rocks  and  keeps  one  foot 
going." 

68 


"Is  that  the  extent  of  your  morning's  work?" 

"No:  I  rearranged  the  flowers,  and  Miss 
Myrtle  nearly  bit  my  head  off.  It  seems  she 
prefers  geraniums  and  petunias  in  the  same  vase. 
Then  I  gave  up  and  played  tennis." 

"And  didn't  that  worry  you  at  all?" 

"Why?"    Her  surprise  was  genuine. 

"Has  nothing  worried  you  in  the  five  weeks 
you  have  been  here?"  he  persisted. 

"I  don't  understand!" 

"Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  if  you  are 
paid  thirty  dollars  a  month,  you  must  earn  a 
dollar  a  day?  You  are  here  as  an  employee  on 
a  salary:  can  you  be  comfortable  if  you  are.  not 
at  least  trying  to  earn  it?" 

The  blood  rushed  into  her  face.  "Well,  I 
must  say — !"  burst  from  her. 

"No,  you  must  not,"  he  cut  in  with  an  inci- 
siveness  that  checked  her.  "The  time  has  come 
when  I  must  say.  I  have  waited,  hoping  that 
you  would  see  for  yourself,  but  you  do  less  every 
day.  You  owe  me  your  time  and  your  real 
efforts  just  as  surely  as  I  owe  you  thirty  dollars 
a  month.  Your  hothouse  life  is  left  behind  you: 
you  are  in  the  business  world  now,  and  you  must 
obey  its  laws  or  go  under.  And  the  first  law  is 
that  you  deliver  the  goods  —  if  you  are  paid  for 
services,  you  give  them." 

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OPEN   HOUSE 

She  rose,  white  and  trembling.  "Please  under- 
stand that  I  have  handed  in  my  resignation,"  she 
said  in  a  choked  voice,  turning  to  go. 

"No:  I  will  understand  nothing  of  the  sort." 
He  did  not  move,  but  his  voice  arrested  her. 
"You  are  too  good  to  be  wasted,  Cassandra 
Joyce.  I  feel  it  every  day  —  your  brains  and 
practical  ability,  your  honesty,  your  fearlessness. 
Learn  to  work,  and  you  can  be  anything  you 
will.  No,  I  refuse  to  give  you  up." 

She  threw  herself  into  a  chair  with  her  face 
hidden  against  the  back.  "Oh,  I  want  to  go,  I 
want  to  go,"  she  cried.  The  ready  compassion 
sprang  into  his  eyes. 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  where  can  you  go  without 
money?"  he  asked  in  a  wholly  different  tone. 
She  raised  her  head  with  a  flash  of  renewed 
anger. 

"I  can  have  millions  any  moment,  simply  by 
lifting  my  finger." 

"But  where  — how?" 

"By  marriage." 

His  silence  lasted  so  long  that  she  stole  a  look 
at  him,  vaguely  frightened.  He  was  staring  at 
the  floor  as  though  he  had  forgotten  her,  but  at 
her  movement  he  let  his  folded  arms  drop  and 
came  over  to  her  with  a  rather  tired  smile. 

"Well,  if  it  is  someone  you  care  for,  that  is  of 
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OPEN    HOUSE 

course  the  simplest  way  out  of  it,"  he  said.  "Will 
you  tell  me  about  him?" 

She  lay  back  passively,  her  eyes  half  closed. 
"There  is  very  little  to  tell.  His  name  is  Burnett 
-  George  Burnett.  He  is  over  forty,  a  business 
man  —  leather,  I  believe :  he  is  enormously  rich. 
I  knew  him  in  Paris  and  he  crossed  when  I 
did." 

"And  you  think  that  you — "  the  doctor  hes- 
itated. 

"The  chief  objection  is  that  he  is  not  a  gentle- 
man," she  went  on  indifferently. 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  lacks  social  knowl- 
edge?" 

"Oh,  no  —  he  is  not  a  rough  diamond.  He 
is  rather  coarse,  that  is  all.  Not  more  so  than 
some  aristocrats  I  have  known,  but,  unfortu- 
nately, his  coarseness  is  the  wrong  kind.  More- 
over, his  past  life  has  been  anything  but  — 
edifying,  and  I  doubt  my  powers  as  a  reformer. 
So,  you  see,  I  have  hesitated." 

His  answer  was  an  odd  one,  coming  from  him. 
"Couldn't  you  do  any  better?"  he  asked.  There 
was  relief  as  well  as  surprise  in  her  quick  glance. 
Evidently  she  had  not  dreamed  of  being  met  so 
understandingly. 

"Of  course  I  could  have,  three  years  ago," 
she  said  with  less  of  defiance  in  her  frankness. 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

"But  I  was  a  young  fool.  There  have  been  men 
since,  too  —  but  I  was  still  a  fool.  It  did  not 
occur  to  me  that  I  might  have  to  compromise. 
I  have  always  supposed  that  I  was  born  to  the 
best  of  everything,"  she  added,  with  bitter  self- 
derision. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  know;"  Caspar  spoke 
mildly,  reasonably;  "but  I  should  suppose  that 
earning  millions  that  way  would  be  a  long  sight 
worse  than  earning  next  to  nothing  this  way." 

"Perhaps  —  I  can't  say.  I  haven't  decided. 
Now  is  there  anything  else  I  am  to  be  scolded 
for?"  And  she  smiled  with  restored  imperti- 
nence. 

"Yes,  several  things;"  but  it  was  the  man,  not 
the  employer,  who  had  answered  her  smile.  "I 
think  we  will  save  them  for  another  day,  how- 
ever." 

"You  had  better  do  it  while  I  am  in  a  chas- 
tened mood,"  she  advised.  "I  might  not  be  so 
meek,  next  time." 

He  laughed  at  the  term  "meek"  in  connection 
with  Cassandra  Joyce,  laughed  with  deeply 
appreciative  enjoyment. 

"I  can't  attack  you  when  you  invite  it  like  this; 
it  is  too  unnatural,"  he  protested. 

"Then  I  may  consider  myself  forgiven,  for 
this  once?"  And  she  looked  up  at  him  with 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

open  consciousness  of  power,  power  over  man. 
That  mysterious  ascendency  known  as  the  upper 
hand  was  suddenly  hers. 

"Ah,  you  will  always  be  forgiven,  I  am  afraid," 
he  was  beginning  impulsively,  when  Ann's  voice, 
suddenly  restored  to  its  note  of  joyousness, 
sounded  from  the  garden,  breaking  the  spell 
that  had  held  their  eyes.  He  turned  to  his  office, 
his  face  clouding.  "Unless  you  make  my  Ann 
Blossom  unhappy,"  he  added  in  a  low  tone  as  he 
shut  the  door  between  them. 

She  sat  with  downcast  eyes  and  idle  hands  for 
a  long  time,  held  by  that  last  warning.  What  had 
he  meant  about  making  Ann  Blossom  unhappy 
—  "my  Ann  Blossom"?  She  turned  irritably 
from  the  phrase,  but  it  clung  to  her  like  a  thorn, 
wounding  and  enraging.  His  Ann  Blossom! 
His  if  he  wanted  her,  obviously;  but  how  could 
he  dream  of  so  throwing  himself  away?  Was  he 
begging  her  not  to  come  between  them?  The 
idea  startled  her,  then  she  laughed  contemptu- 
ously at  herself.  It  would  be  so  like  him,  man 
of  indomitable  strength,  to  beg  quarter  from 
her,  the  least  of  his  derelicts.  His  Ann  Blossom  ? 
Very  well,  then :  so  be  it.  And  she  bent  doggedly 
to  her  work. 

When  the  doctor  had  expostulated  with  her, 
five  weeks  before,  all  his  warmth  and  gentleness 

73 


OPEN    HOUSE 

could  not  allay  her  angry  resentment;  she  had 
been  fiercely  ready  to  punish  him  for  the  reproof 
ever  since.  To-oay's  lecture,  curiously  enough, 
sharp  and  unsympathetic  as  it  was,  left  no  bitter- 
ness. He  had  said  things  that  gave  her  every 
excuse  for  resentment,  yet  all  her  desire  to  strike 
back  was  inexplicably  gone.  She  felt  only  heavy- 
hearted  and  bewildered,  strangely  humble  be- 
fore his  disapprobation.  In  truth,  she  had  never 
in  her  life  come  so  near  deserving  the  term  " meek" 
as  on  that  long  summer  day  when  she  sat  trying 
to  do  her  work  well  and  to  forget  his  baffling  plea 
for  "his"  Ann  Blossom. 

Caspar  did  not  come  home  to  dinner,  and  in 
the  warm  twilight  afterwards  Ann  frankly  posted 
herself  on  the  front  steps  to  watch  for  him. 
Cassandra  tried  to  keep  aloof,  but  she  presently 
followed,  seating  herself  on  the  dusty  old  balus- 
trade with  an  indifference  to  her  white  skirt  that 
made  Ann  protest.  Ann's  face,  which  had  lately 
carried  a  secret  shadow,  was  whole-heartedly  gay 
to-night. 

"I  finished  your  set  for  you  this  morning,  and 
lost  every  single  point,"  she  said  with  a  laugh, 
turning  from  Ernest,  who  had  been  absently  hos- 
ing one  unlucky  clematis  for  the  past  ten  min- 
utes. "He  says  I  am  the  worst  beginner  he  ever 
saw!"  Ernest,  discovering  the  lake  about  his 

74 


OPEN    HOUSE 

feet,   placidly  transferred  the  water  to  a  more 
distant  vine. 

"Well,  you  see,  the  balls  are  so  round  and 
white  and  little,  Miss  Blossom  can't  bear  to  hit 
them,"  he  explained,  smiling  up  at  Ann,  whose 
laughter  ran  over  at  the  idea. 

"I  try  hard  enough,  but  the  bad  little  things 
dodge  me,"  she  complained.  "Some  people  are 
born  to  do  things  well  and  some  aren't.  I  should 
know  that  you  played  good  tennis,  Miss  Joyce, 
if  I  only  passed  you  on  the  street,  and  you'd 
know  that  I  wouldn't." 

"You  mean  that  you  would  know  that  as  a 
corollary  to  some  more  general  knowledge," 
Ernest  interposed.  "You  can  state  it  more 
broadly  —  put  it  in  terms  of  character."  Ann's 
glance  rested  indulgently,  yet  with  a  glimmer  of 
mischief,  on  the  alert  young  schoolmaster. 

"And,  passing  you,  Ernest,"  she  went  on  delib- 
erately, "I  should  know  in  an  instant  that  if  you 
saw  a  chance  for  an  argument  or  a  definition,  you 
would  inevitably  aim  the  hose  straight  through 
the  cellar  window." 

Ernest  jerked  the  stream  of  water  to  a  new 
angle  with  a  rueful  laugh.  "Thank  goodness 
Miss  Myrtle  didn't  see  that,"  he  was  beginning, 
when  that  lady  appeared  at  the  open  front  door 
behind  them.  She  was  sniffing  anxiously. 

75 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Where  do  you  suppose  alJ  the  smoke  is  com- 
ing from?"  she  asked. 

They  noticed  then  that  the  haze  had  taken  on 
a  yellowish  tinge,  and  that  there  was  an  ominous 
fragrance  of  distant  burning  in  the  air.  Ann  ran 
up  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and  reported  dense 
smoke  far  across  the  town. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  am  afraid  it  is  some  big  fire,"  she 
exclaimed,  her  eyes  widened  for  the  distress  that 
that  meant. 

"And  I  suppose  Caspar  has  gone  to  it,"  sighed 
Miss  Myrtle.  "Why  he  has  to  mix  himself  up 
in  everything  that  happens — !" 

"But  what  good  could  he  do  at  a  fire?"  Cas- 
sandra asked,  a  quick  note  of  protest  in  her 
voice.  Ann's  thin  hands  were  tightly  clasped. 

"Oh,  I  wish  he  would  come  home!"  she  said, 
a  catch  of  fright  in  her  voice.  Cassandra  turned 
from  her  impatiently;  the  girl  seemed  to  think 
she  had  the  exclusive  right  to  be  anxious. 

"I  don't  see  what  could  happen  to  him,"  she 
said,  with  a  perverse  denial  of  her  own  secret 
uneasiness.  Ann  did  not  heed,  but  Miss  Myrtle 
explained  how  many  coats  he  had  ruined  and 
hats  he  had  lost,  "plunging  into  things."  She 
was  still  plaintively  scolding  when  a  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  gate  and  Dr.  Diman  jumped  out. 

Ann  sprang  up  with  a  little  note  of  joy,  but 
76 


OPEN    HOUSE 

stopped  where  she  was,  startled  and  puzzled, 
for  the  carriage  had  begun  to  disgorge.  Through 
the  half  darkness  they  saw  seven  small  white 
objects  flop  down,  one  after  another,  then  the 
carriage  departed  and  Caspar  turned  in  at 
the  gate,  followed  by  a  curious  procession.  The 
group  on  the  steps  stared  in  breathless  silence  as 
the  white  objects  filing  up  the  path  gradually 
defined  themselves  as  seven  little  boys  in  their 
nightshirts.  They  were  all  about  the  same  size, 
with  bare  feet  and  closely  cropped  heads;  two  or 
three  carried  small  treasures  clasped  in  their 
arms,  and  all  were  big-eyed  with  excitement. 

"What  on  earth!"  stuttered  Miss  Myrtle.  Cas- 
par, made  aware  of  the  staring  group,  hesitated 
before  them,  the  procession  lining  up  behind  him ; 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  faced  his  sister 
with  a  faint  cringe  of  propitiation. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Myrtle,"  he  apologized. 
"The  orphan  asylum  has  burned  up!" 

The  nightgowned  seven  repeated  his  upward 
look  of  anxious  apology.  Before  Miss  Myrtle 
could  draw  breath  enough  for  speech,  the  solem- 
nity of  the  moment  was  shattered  by  a  gasp  of 
laughter  from  Cassandra.  Caspar,  abruptly  re- 
minded of  his  aspect  at  the  head  of  his  little  band, 
gave  them  a  startled  glance:  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  twitched  helplessly  for  an  instant,  then 

77 


OPEN    HOUSE 

he  threw  back  his  head  and  frankly  shouted. 
The  others  echoed  him;  even  the  seven,  realizing 
their  costume,  broke  into  seven  shrill  giggles. 
Only  Miss  Myrtle  stood  heavily  silent. 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at,"  she  re- 
marked. 

Caspar  pulled  himself  back  to  sobriety  as  Ann 
went  on  her  knees  by  the  children,  gathering 
them  into  her  arms  with  eager  questions,  feeling 
their  hands  to  see  if  they  were  cold. 

"It  is  only  for  to-night,  Myrtle,"  he  explained. 
"Other  asylums  will  take  them  all  over  by  to- 
morrow, but  to-night  they  have  to  be  farmed  out 
everywhere.  We  can  put  up  cots  in  my  office, 
and  the  sitting-room  couches  will  hold  two 
or  three.  Get  some  linen,  there's  a  good  soul. 
They  are  tired  kids."  And  he  rubbed  his  hand 
affectionately  over  the  tow  head  at  his  side. 

"It  will  make  a  dreadful  wash  for  this  week," 
sighed  Miss  Myrtle;  but  she  went. 

Ann  was  deputed  to  carry  the  children  off  to 
her  room  and  get  them  as  quieted  as  possible 
while  their  beds  were  prepared;  and  Caspar 
paused  to  direct  Cassandra's  eyes  to  the  picture 
she  made  on  the  broad  curve  of  the  stairs,  mother- 
ing all  seven  with  her  extended  hands  and  smiling 
eyes. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  Cassandra,  dryly.  "I 
78 


OPEN    HOUSE 

don't  care  for  children,  myself,"  she  added.  If 
she  courted  disapprobation,  she  was  disappointed; 
the  note  of  defiance  was  too  naively  clear.  He 
met  it  as  he  might  have  met  a  piece  of  naughti- 
ness from  one  of  the  orphans  up-stairs;  that  is  to 
say,  he  smiled  at  her  with  his  measureless  and 
unbounded  comprehension  and  set  her  to  work. 
Together  they  cleared  space  for  the  cots  Ernest 
was  getting  down  from  the  attic,  and  Cassandra, 
after  a  moment  of  seething  resentment,  dropped 
suddenly  to  humble  gratitude  that  he  was  not 
chilled  towards  her.  She  made  up  the  little  beds 
under  his  directions  with  apologetic  zeal. 

Caspar  hesitated  over  the  living-room  couches. 
"I  don't  know  about  putting  them  here.  Per- 
haps I'd  better  give  them  my  room,"  he  reflected. 
"You  see,  the  poor  little  shrimps  will  have  to 
stay  in  bed  until  I  can  buy  them  new  clothes, 
and  the  shops  won't  be  open  before  eight." 

"You  don't  want  to  buy  them  clothes."  Cas- 
sandra always  spoke  with  authority  on  a  practical 
issue.  "People  will  give  you  all  you  need,  and 


"But  collecting  them  would  take  half  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Do  it  now  —  it  isn't  late.  Get  your  carriage 
and  drive  to  all  the  people  you  know  who  have 
little  boys.  You  can  collect  plenty  for  them  to 

79 


OPEN    HOUSE 

begin  on."  He  looked  at  his  watch,  then  nodded 
at  her  approvingly. 

"That  is  a  good  scheme.  I'll  do  it."  He 
turned  away  to  order  the  horse,  but  at  the  door 
he  paused  and  glanced  back.  "Will  you  go  with 
me?" 

"Yes,  gladly;"  she  spoke  indifferently,  ashamed 
that  she  should  be  so  glad.  "He  would  have 
taken  his  Ann  Blossom  if  it  weren't  for  the  chil- 
dren," she  reminded  herself  as  she  shook  the  last 
pillow  into  its  case. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  they  started,  leaving  Ann 
to  tuck  up  the  orphans.  Caspar,  helping  his 
assistant  into  the  buggy,  looked  with  apprecia- 
tion at  the  fresh  white  coat  she  had  put  on. 

"What  pretty  things  women  have  to  wear," 
he  commented. 

"Yes,  aren't  they  nice;"  and  she  glanced  down 
at  her  glimmering  whiteness  with  frank  enjoy- 
ment. He  pulled  up  at  the  gate  and,  leaning 
down  from  the  buggy,  cut  off  a  sturdy  little  yellow 
rose  that  was  thrusting  towards  them  from  the 
clustered  darkness  of  the  shrubbery. 

"There  is  a  decoration  for  you,"  he  said,  lay- 
ing it  on  her  knee,  and  looked  at  her  with  satis- 
faction when  it  was  fastened  to  her  coat.  "I 
sometimes  think  that  I  am  too  careless  about 
appearances,"  he  confided,  as  though  the  idea 

80 


OPEN    HOUSE 

would  be  a  wholly  new  one  to  her.    Her  glance 
at  his  shapeless  old  serge  coat  was  malicious. 

"Really?"  she  murmured.  It  was  not  too 
dark  for  him  to  see  the  derision  of  her  lifted  eye- 
brows, and  he  laughed  out  at  himself. 

"Am  I  such  a  very  awful  sight?"  he  asked. 
"Tell  me  the  truth." 

She  left  the  question  suspended  to  comment, 
lazily,  "Did  you  ever  know  me  to  tell  anything 
but  the  truth?" 

"No.  Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't  lie;  you've  got 
too  much  moral  impudence."  They  both  laughed 
at  that.  "Well,  then,  answer  my  question:  is 
my  appearance  too  shocking?" 

"It  is,"  said  Cassandra.    He  sighed. 

"Myrtle  always  says  so,  but  she  says  so  many 
things  —  I  hoped  it  wasn  't  so  bad  as  all  that. 
Well,  some  day  I  will  pick  up  a  broken-down 
valet  in  need  of  a  job,  and  then  you  will  see  a 
reform." 

"Would  you  use  a  valet?"  she  demanded  in 
surprise. 

"Would  I  hire  someone  to  do  necessary  work 
that  I  had  no  time  for  myself  ?  Certainly.  Why 
not?" 

"I  don't  know."  She  was  obviously  pleased. 
"I  supposed  you  had  a  democratic  scorn  of  valets 
and  maids  and  all  such  pomps  and  vanities." 

81 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"So  I  have,  as  pomps.  I  don't  like  display 
and  I  don't  like  personal  laziness.  But  as  a 
legitimate  short  cut  —  if  a  maid  would  leave  you 
free  to  do  things  better  worth  while  than  brushing 
your  clothes,  then  have  one,  by  all  means." 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  said  Cassandra,  as  he  stopped 
the  horse  in  front  of  a  large,  pleasant  house  sug- 
gestive of  many  children,  and  handed  her  the  reins. 

"Let  me  see;  six  and  seven  year  sizes?"  he 
reflected. 

"Anything  between  five  and  eight  would  fit 
somebody,  I  should  think." 

"And  we  want  anything  they  can  spare?" 

"Anything  we  can  get." 

He  turned  away  with  a  laugh.  "I  always 
knew  you  had  business  ability,"  he  commented. 

He  was  gone  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  but 
Cassandra  lay  back  contentedly,  watching  the 
stealing  whiteness  of  the  rising  moon  on  lawn 
and  shrub  and  the  soft  blackening  of  the  maple 
shadows  down  the  quiet  street.  The  bitterness  of 
the  morning  seemed  as  remote  as  her  life  in  Paris. 
All  the  clamouring  questions  of  her  daily  impa- 
tience for  once  were  stilled;  she  was  satisfied  to 
study  leaf  patterns  and  to  smell  the  little  rose  on 
her  coat. 

Caspar  came  back  rejoicing  in  a  huge  bundle. 
Two  more  raids  in  the  next  block  brought  further 

82 


contributions.  After  some  hesitation,  they  turned 
in  at  the  gates  of  a  big  place,  girt  with  elms, 
then,  finding  the  house  dark,  they  drove  quietly 
out  again,  feeling  rather  furtive.  The  next  two 
ventures  proved  so  successful  that  Caspar  de- 
cided they  had  enough  to  begin  on.  He  was  in 
boyishly  high  spirits  as  they  drove  home  with 
their  brimming  cargo. 

"The  orphans  will  be  well  dressed,  even  if  I 
am  not,"  he  commented. 

"There  is  a  light  in  that  house;  perhaps  we 
could  pick  up  a  suit  for  you  there,"  she  suggested. 
He  looked  alarmed. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  have  really  got 
to  reform?  I  thought  we  could  simply  laugh 
about  it  —  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

"Well  —  if  you  will  agree  to  treat  my  delin- 
quencies that  way." 

He  laughed.  "I  will  make  no  unholy  bargains 
with  you.  Why  does  it  matter,  anyway?"  he 
added. 

"Because  it  does,"  said  Cassandra,  with  youth- 
ful finality. 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  comes  between  me  and 
other  people?  —  so  that,  instead  of  listening  to 
my  words  of  wisdom,  they  are  thinking,  'Good 
Heavens,  why  doesn't  the  man  get  his  coat 
pressed!'  -  ^  is  that  it?" 

83 


OPEN    HOUSE 

She  hesitated.  "Your  Ann  Blossom  would 
not  think  so,"  she  was  impelled  to  say,  her  tone 
faintly  derisive.  If  she  hoped  to  dare  him  with 
impunity,  she  was  disappointed;  the  very  angle 
of  his  shoulders  expressed  a  subtle  withdrawal. 

"Ah,  there  are  few  natures  like  my  Ann  Blos- 
som," was  the  cool  answer.  "I  meant  with  the 
average,  superficial  person,  who  can  not  see 
much  below  the  surface." 

"Like  me,"  assented  Cassandra,  scorning  to 
ignore  her  punishment.  "Really,  I  can't  say. 
Nothing  —  here  matters  very  much  to  me,  one 
way  or  the  other." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  he  said,  with  unfeeling 
cheerfulness,  as  they  turned  in  at  the  gate. 

A  night  light  that  had  been  left  between  the 
living-room  and  the  office  showed  the  seven  little 
sleepers  lying  in  deep-breathing  peace.  Caspar 
laughed  silently  at  the  picture. 

"Looks  like  a  battlefield,"  he  murmured,  as 
he  pulled  the  covers  over  straying  legs  and  arms. 
"Have  you  noticed  this  angelic  little  Deutscher?" 
He  had  paused  by  the  big  couch  where  two  were 
tucked  up,  and  she  obeyed  his  tacit  command 
to  come  and  look.  The  upturned  face,  guilelessly 
broad  for  its  length,  was  a  soft,  even  pink  from 
the  throat  to  the  thicket  of  tow  hair,  and  lavishly 
set  for  dimples.  Blond  eyelashes  turned  up  in 

84 


OPEN    HOUSE 

appealing  little  ducktails  from  his  tightly  shut 
eyelids;  his  widely  curving  lips  had  the  smile 
of  cherubim.  The  boy  beside  him,  though  little 
older,  had  left  babyhood  so  far  behind  that  one 
must  doubt  if  he  had  ever  experienced  it:  the 
thin,  dun  face,  open-mouthed,  could  make  only  a 
sociological  appeal.  But  the  little  Deutscher  had 
all  the  charm  of  puppyhood  in  his  innocent  curves. 
"He  says  his  name  is  Villum.  He  has  been  in 
the  asylum  only  a  few  weeks;  he  had  a  mother 
until  then,  he  told  me." 

"I  daresay  some  asylums  are  better  than  some 
mothers,"  observed  Cassandra,  suspecting  an 
attack  on  her  sympathies  and  instantly  defensive. 

"I  don't  doubt  it."  If  an  attack  had  been 
intended,  it  was  abandoned  with  perfect  cheer- 
fulness. "Would  you  mind  leaving  your  door 
open?"  he  added  as  they  went  up-stairs.  "I 
should  probably  hear  any  disturbance,  but  if  I 
did  not,  you  could  call  me." 

She  assented  with  a  readiness  tinged  with 
penitence.  "I  didn't  mean  to  be  snubby,"  she 
told  herself  uncomfortably,  after  he  had  gone. 
"Or,  at  least,  I  meant  to  be,  but  I  wish  I  hadn't," 
she  added  with  a  faint  sigh. 

She  was  a  long  time  getting  to  sleep.  The 
night  was  warm,  and  that  peaceful  hour  of  escape 
from  her  troubled  self  made  the  return  doubly 

85 


OPEN    HOUSE 

exasperating.  All  the  small  struggles  of  the  past 
weeks  came  back  to  haunt  her. 

"I  hate  it,  I  hate  it,"  she  cried  to  herself,  fling- 
ing her  restless  arms  wide  for  coolness.  The 
stinging  rebuke  of  the  morning  was,  strangely 
enough,  the  only  source  of  comfort.  She  clung 
with  inexplicable  satisfaction  to  the  memory  of 
Caspar's  uncompromising  words,  the  inflexible 
sternness  of  him  as  he  faced  her  over  his  folded 
arms.  It  was  only  when  he  spoke  of  "his"  Ann 
Blossom  that  he  offended  and  humiliated  her. 
That  he  should  so  blindly  exalt  a  crude,  ignorant 
young  girl! 

She  slept  at  last,  but  so  lightly  that  only  a  very 
faint  sound  was  needed  to  rouse  her.  As  she 
listened  with  lifted  head  and  eyes  instantly  wide 
awake,  the  sound  located  itself  in  the  big  room 
below,  and  proved  to  be  a  smothered,  disjointed 
sobbing.  Throwing  on  a  dressing-gown,  she 
went  swiftly  to  the  stairs  and  listened  again. 
The  night  light  showed  the  newest  orphan  with 
burrowing  face  and  shaken  shoulders. 

Cassandra's  first  impulse  was  to  call  the  doctor ; 
but  she  went  reluctantly  down  instead  and  stood 
beside  the  couch,  looking  uncomfortably  at  the 
little  heaving  back. 

"What  is  the  matter,  child?"  she  demanded. 

An  incoherent  mutter  about  fire  and  big  engines 
86 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  my  mother  came  from  the  pillow  where 
Villum,  face  down,  writhed  between  sleep  and 
terror.  Cassandra,  feeling  oddly  helpless  and 
embarrassed,  turned  him  over  in  the  hope  that 
a  chance  to  breathe  might  prove  soothing. 

"You  are  all  right,"  she  assured  him.  "The 
fire  is  out.  Now  go  to  sleep  like  a  good  boy." 

Villum's  pale  blue  eyes,  pathetically  drowned, 
stared  wildly  about  him;  his  hands  fastened  in  a 
hot  grasp  on  her  kimono  and  the  sobs  increased. 
She  sat  down  beside  him  with  a  sigh  of  perplexity. 

"Hush,  hush!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  will 
wake  the  other  little  boys.  You  don't  want  to 
do  that,  do  you?"  Her  nearness  was  perhaps 
more  soothing  than  her  argument.  Villum,  sub- 
siding into  quivering  sighs,  gasped  out  a  desire 
for  a  "trink  of  water."  Greatly  relieved  by  this 
practical  suggestion,  Cassandra  hurried  off,  taking 
the  light  with  her.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
this  might  produce  fresh  disaster  until  a  rising 
wail  penetrated  to  the  pantry.  She  flew  back, 
the  glass  dripping  water  on  her  slippers. 

"Child,  child!"  she  implored.  "There  is 
nothing  to  cry  about.  Do  be  reasonable!"  She 
was  too  intent  to  notice  a  figure  that  had  paused 
abruptly  at  the  stair  head  on  her  entrance,  and 
now  shrank  back  soundlessly  into  the  darkness  of 
the  upper  hall.  "Here  is  your  water,"  she  went 

87  ' 


OPEN    HOUSE 

on,  as  the  wail  dropped  to  hiccoughing  reassur- 
ance. Villum  grasped  the  glass  in  two  strain- 
ing hands  with  fingers  hooked  desperately  over 
the  top  and  bent  his  face  to  it,  but  looked 
up  a  moment  later  with  the  plaintive  informa- 
tion, 

"It  iss  running  my  bed  all  over!"  It  undeni- 
ably was.  She  righted  the  glass  with  a  weary, 
"Oh,  dear!"  and  caught  away  the  wet  sheet 
before  it  could  touch  his  nightgown. 

"Now  if  I  go  up-stairs  to  get  another  sheet, 
will  you  promise  not  to  howl  again?"  she  asked. 
The  broad,  pink  face  was  instantly  creased  into 
weeping  lines;  the  blue  eyes  filled. 

"I  do  not  want  that  you  leave  me;"  the  voice 
was  sorrowful  rather  than  whimpering;  a  little 
hand  closed  tightly  on  her  loose  sleeve.  The 
lurking  figure  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  might  have 
come  to  her  rescue,  but  he  only  shrank  back  still 
farther  in  the  upper  darkness,  his  eyes  deeply, 
warmly  amused,  and  began  a  furtive  retreat. 
"I  want  that  you  take  me  on  your  lap,"  continued 
Villum,  his  head  tipped  back  as  though  he  knew 
that  a  whole  view  of  his  angelic  countenance  was 
his  best  plea.  In  spite  of  herself,  she  relented  a 
little. 

"You  are  a  nuisance,"  she  protested,  but  she 
gave  up  her  wavering  intention  of  summoning 

88 


OPEN    HOUSE 

help.  Dr.  Diman  was  tired  with  his  long  day's 
work;  it  would  not  be  fair  to  rouse  him  for  this 
small  dilemma.  She  might,  of  course,  turn  to 
Ann  Blossom,  who  would  know  exactly  what  to 
do,  but  the  suggestion  resulted  only  in  a  sharply 
offended  motion  of  her  eyebrows.  "Ann  Blos- 
som, indeed!"  it  expressed. 

She  had  rolled  back  the  wet  corner  of  the  sheet, 
and  she  replaced  it  now  with  a  light  shawl,  won- 
dering at  the  power  of  sleep  manifested  by  the 
other  six.  Then  she  drew  up  a  chair  beside  the 
couch. 

"Now,  if  you  will  lie  still  and  shut  your  eyes,  I 
will  tell  you  a  story,"  she  offered.  Villum  ac- 
cepted the  program,  wriggling  nearer  to  her  and 
screwing  his  yellow  eyelashes  together.  She  told 
him  a  long  tale  with  a  monotonous  refrain  about 
"a  rag  and  a  tag  and  a  long  leather  bag,"  remem- 
bered hazily  from  her  own  childhood,  and  he 
listened  with  a  stillness  so  promising  that  she  let 
her  voice  die  away  by  degrees  to  silence  and  began 
cautiously  to  rise.  Instantly  two  light  blue  slits 
gleamed  between  the  parting  eyelids. 

"Tell  it  again,"  Villum  commanded.  His 
voice  was  drowsy,  so  she  went  hopefully  through 
the  droning  rigmarole  once  more,  growing  des- 
perately sleepy  herself  under  its  hypnotic  repeti- 
tions. This  attempt  was  apparently  successful, 

89 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  she  had  stolen  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
when  a  wail  broke  forth. 

"I  do  not  want  that  you  go  away,"  wept  Villum. 

"Oh,  botheration!"  she  muttered.  Then  she 
stood  hesitating  before  a  possible  solution.  "Will 
you  be  good  if  I  take  you  up  into  my  bed?"  she 
asked  reluctantly. 

His  little  feet  instantly  sought  the  floor,  and  he 
lifted  a  confiding  hand  to  hers.  So  they  went  up 
the  stairs  together,  and  she  could  have  laughed  at 
the  situation,  had  she  not  been  so  sleepy  and  so 
irritated. 

She  placed  the  child  as  far  from  her  as  possible 
in  the  wide  bed,  shrinking  from  any  contact,  and 
he  fell  asleep  with  magical  instantaneousness, 
lying  so  still  that  she  presently  drifted  off  herself. 
She  slept  heavily  this  time,  so  heavily  that  she 
was  not  aroused  when  a  soft  little  body  curled  up 
against  her  with  a  long  breath  of  content.  When 
she  awoke  in  the  early  morning  she  was  startled 
to  find  a  tow  head  burrowed  comfortably  into  her 
shoulder  and  a  knee  planted  on  her  chest.  She 
shrank  hastily  away. 

"Thank  goodness,  they  are  going  to-day,"  she 
exclaimed. 

The  house  was  still  silent,  so,  lifting  Villum  with 
stealthy  caution,  she  carried  him  back  to  his 
proper  place,  indefinably  reluctant  that  her  har- 

90 


OPEN    HOUSE 

bouring  of  him  should  be  known.  The  helpless 
dead  weight  in  her  arms,  the  broad,  upturned 
face,  roused  a  pang  of  compunction,  a  momentary 
shame  for  her  own  withholding.  She  kissed  him 
lightly  as  she  laid  him  down. 

"You  are  a  nice  baby,"  she  admitted  with  a 
sigh. 

Evidently  Ann  engineered  seven  baths  that 
morning,  for  sounds  of  revelry  and  splashing 
began  soon  afterwards,  interrupted  at  intervals 
by  an  imploring, 

"Oh,  darlings,  there  is  a  sick  lady  up-stairs  — 
we  really  must  be  quieter!"  With  a  frown  of 
annoyance,  Cassandra  heard  a  definite  little  voice 
in  the  hall  announce. 

"I  want  mine  own  lady  to  bath  me."  Ann 
tried  in  vain  to  find  out  who  his  own  lady  was. 
"Mine  own  lady  what  tells  me  of  the  rag  and  the 
tag,"  was  all  she  could  elicit. 

"That  lady  isn't  here,  dear,"  Ann  assured  him, 
and  he  finally  consented  to  be  bathed  by  her. 

Cassandra  did  not  appear  until  the  clinking  of 
bowls  and  glasses  told  that  breakfast  was  in  prog- 
ress. The  rooms  had  been  restored  to  order, 
and  the  seven,  variously  but  completely  clothed, 
were  seated  about  a  table  while  Ann  served  them 
and  Caspar  looked  on.  Ann  glanced  up  with  a 
welcoming  smile. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  am  afraid  you  haven't  slept  much  this 
morning,  Miss  Joyce,"  she  apologized.  Before 
Cassandra  could  answer,  there  was  a  note  of 
joy  from  Villum.  Sliding  down  from  the  diction- 
ary that  elevated  him  to  the  table,  he  ran  across 
to  her  and  took  her  skirts  into  a  frank  em- 
brace. 

"Here  iss  mine  own  lady!"  he  shouted.  Cas- 
sandra flushed  a  little. 

"  Hello,  Villum,"  she  said  coolly,  and  passed 
on  with  no  further  greeting  than  a  slight  touch 
on  the  tow  head. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  Ann  wondered. 

"He  means  that  he  kept  me  awake  half  the 
night,"  Cassandra  explained  rather  shortly,  turn- 
ing to  the  dining-room  where  Miss  Myrtle  was 
gloomily  adhering  to  the  principle  that  breakfast 
must  be  served  at  its  appointed  time,  even  if  no 
one  was  present  to  eat  it. 

Ann  carried  the  children  off  to  a  remote  part  of 
the  garden  for  the  morning,  but  Cassandra  had 
not  been  at  work  long  when  a  sound  of  little  boots 
and  hurried  breathing  made  her  look  up.  Vil- 
lum, pinker  than  ever  from  his  throat  to  his  tow 
hair,  was  beaming  up  at  her,  an  interesting  col- 
lection of  sticks  and  stones  tightly  clasped  in  his 
arms. 

"I  will  stay  with  you,"  he  announced,  dropping 
92 


OPEN   HOUSE 

the  load  beside  her  chair.  Reluctantly  amused, 
she  represented  to  him  that  he  would  have  more 
fun  with  the  other  children,  that  he  would  have 
to  be  quiet  here.  Villum  was  already  seated  on 
the  floor  with  a  brief  leg  on  either  side  of  his 
treasures. 

"I  will  be  quiet,  and  by  and  by  you  will  tell  me 
about  the  rag  and  the  tag,"  he  asserted.  So  she 
turned  back  to  her  work,  ignoring  the  silent  little 
presence.  Ann  came  presently  in  search  of  him, 
but  his  serene,  "I  will  stay  here,"  seemed  to  admit 
of  no  argument.  Cassandra  felt  a  prick  of  satis- 
faction that  he  would  not  leave  her  for  Ann  Blos- 
som, though  she  offered  his  constancy  no  reward. 
He  was  still  contentedly  playing  there  when  Cas- 
par came  in. 

"Hello,  Villum.  Why  aren't  you  with  the 
others?"  he  demanded.  Villum  did  not  even 
look  up  from  his  building  operations. 

"I  stay  with  mine  own  lady,"  was  the  tranquil 
answer.  The  doctor  glanced  mischievously  at 
Cassandra,  but  her  severe  profile  did  not  invite 
comment,  so  he  merely  announced  that  an  omni- 
bus was  on  its  way  to  gather  up  the  children. 
They  were  to  be  taken  care  of  by  the  Sacred  Heart 
Orphanage. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  Ann?"  he  added,  as 
the  telephone  summoned  him. 

93 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Cassandra  went  down  into  the  garden  with  the 
message  and  lingered  there,  thinking  to  spare 
Villum  the  pang  of  parting.  He  had  not  seemed 
to  heed  the  order  for  departure,  but  she  had  a 
suspicion  that  the  moment  of  separation  might 
prove  overwhelming,  if  she  were  present.  Poor 
little  Deutscher!  He  had  been  rather  touching 
that  morning,  amusing  himself  so  contentedly 
beside  her  chair.  She  wished  now  that  she  had 
stopped  for  one  more  telling  of  the  rag  and  the 
tag.  It  was  with  an  honest  hope  that  the  excit- 
ing prospect  of  a  drive  behind  horses  would 
distract  his  mind  that  she  hid  herself  in  the 
garden. 

A  tree  full  of  bright  summer  apples  offered 
refreshment,  and  she  swung  herself  up  into  its 
low  branches.  Even  as  she  made  her  selection, 
Ann  came  running  down  the  path. 

"Miss  Joyce,  Villum  wants  to  say  good-by  to 
you.  The  omnibus  is  waiting."  She  spoke  with 
a  hint  of  reproach,  which  Cassandra  instantly 
resented. 

"Say  it  for  me.  You  are  much  better  at 
such  things  than  I,"  she  returned  lazily,  biting 
into  her  apple.  Ann  was  perhaps  over-tired. 

"But  he  is  crying  I"  she  exclaimed  hotly.  Cas- 
sandra picked  an  apple  and  tossed  it  down. 

"Take  him  that,"  she  said. 
94 


OPEN    HOUSE 

The  apple  lay  where  it  fell,  and  Ann  left  her 
without  a  word,  though  her  face  burned.  True 
enough,  through  the  summer  stillness  came 
a  prolonged  wail.  Even  after  the  horses  had 
started  it  still  sounded,  rising  above  the  rattle  of 
the  vehicle  as  it  came  nearer  down  the  road  that 
bordered  the  long  garden.  Cassandra  tried  for 
a  moment  to  ignore  it;  then  she  seized  a  couple 
of  apples  and,  slipping  down  from  the  tree,  ran 
to  a  remote  corner  of  the  grounds  where  a  gate 
opened  on  the  steet.  She  was  just  in  time  to  stop 
the  omnibus. 

"Villum!"  she  called,  jumping  up  on  the  step. 
A  moist,  creased  face  was  lifted  from  the  black 
knees  of  the  guardian  sister;  two  swimming  blue 
eyes  echoed  waveringly  a  smile  of  utter  relief. 
Cassandra  glanced  apology  at  the  sister,  and 
took  him  into  her  arms. 

"Now  listen,  Villum,"  she  said  earnestly; 
"if  you  will  stop  crying  and  be  a  good  boy,  I 
will  come  to  see  you  to-morrow.  I  promise 
it." 

"And  tell  about  the  rag  and  the  tag?"  he 
quavered. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  it  three  times."  And  she 
kissed  him  with  tightening  arms,  then  put  the 
apples  into  his  hands  and  jumped  down  to  wave 
him  out  of  sight.  And  at  that  very  moment 

95 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Ann  Blossom,  flushed  and  over-tired,  was  ex- 
claiming with  tears  in  her  eyes, 

"She  hasn't  any  heart  —  I  don't  care,  she 
hasn't!  To  let  him  go  off  crying!" 

"Perhaps  she  only  hasn't  found  it,  Ann  dear," 
Caspar  answered;  but  his  face  was  troubled. 


IV 

CASSANDRA  would  have  gone  to  a  romantic 
tryst  far  less  secretly  than  she  slipped  off  for  her 
visit  to  Villum  the  next  afternoon.  A  faint  shadow 
of  disapproval  lay  between  her  and  those  who 
had  witnessed  the  small  boy's  tragic  departure, 
and  not  for  worlds  would  she  have  put  forth  a 
finger  to  clear  it  away.  She  telephoned  from  a 
neighbouring  drug  store  to  find  out  the  asylum's 
visiting  hours,  and  went  out  by  way  of  the 
kitchen  when  her  day's  work  was  over. 

Villum  received  her  with  touching  rapture. 
No  doubt  something  in  her  face  or  voice  had  for 
him  a  hazy  suggestion  of  the  mother  he  had  lost 
so  recently:  his  absolute  acceptance  of  her  from 
the  first  had  seemed  to  imply  an  old  bond  between 
them.  She  stayed  an  hour  with  him  in  the  bare, 
sunny  dormitory,  his  little  chair  drawn  up  close 
beside  hers,  the  Teddy  bear  she  had  brought  him 
clasped  in  a  devouring  embrace.  Their  con- 
versation was  not  exciting.  If  her  questions  were 
very  simple,  he  answered  them;  otherwise,  they 
were  placidly  ignored,  or  disposed  of  with  a  wide, 

97 


OPEN    HOUSE 

upward  smile.  By  no  stretch  of  affection  could 
Villum  be  described  as  clever. 

"How  about  the  rag  and  the  tag?"  she  sug- 
gested finally. 

He  rose  at  once  and  climbed  into  her  lap  as 
though  that  were  an  inevitable  preliminary,  set- 
tling himself  with  an  assurance  there  was  no 
resisting.  The  unconscious  lordliness  with  which 
he  butted  her  into  the  desired  shape  with  head 
and  shoulder  was  rather  taking:  she  adapted 
herself  to  his  needs  with  amused  meekness,  letting 
her  arms  close  lightly  about  him,  a'nd  was  sorry 
when  the  children  came  trooping  in  to  end  their 
visit.  An  atmosphere  of  wholly  loving  admira- 
tion was  a  new  and  soothing  experience. 

She  went  again  and  again  in  the  days  that 
followed,  telling  herself  impatiently  that  one  must 
have  some  object  for  a  walk.  The  busy  sisters 
paid  little  attention  to  her,  but,  as  a  member  of 
Dr.  Diman's  household,  she  found  herself  tacitly 
exempted  from  the  rules  that  bound  other  visitors. 
Evidently  his  name  was  a  power  even  here.  She 
no  longer  departed  by  stealth,  but  no  one  ques- 
tioned her  movements.  Presently  she  came  to 
wish  that  Dr.  Diman  would  find  her  out,  and  so 
perhaps  be  impelled  to  discover  a  solution  for 
Villum's  life.  Thought  of  it  troubled  her  in- 
creasingly. The  impersonal  motherhood  of  an 

98 


OPEN    HOUSE 

asylum  seemed  a  dreary  fate  for  one  so  obviously 
born  to  affection;  and  what  of  his  future?  These 
new  problems  drove  her  to  an  abrupt  question, 
one  night  when  chance  had  left  her  alone  with 
the  doctor. 

"What  becomes  of  boys  who  grow  up  in  orphan 
asylums?"- 

He  was  bent  over  a  microscope,  examining  a 
brownish  smear  on  a  glass  slide,  but  he  straight- 
ened up  to  answer  her. 

"They  go  to  work:  a  great  many  are  placed 
out  on  farms,  I  believe.  Some  merely  get  jobs 
as  best  they  can." 

"Then  they  grow  up  day  labourers,  as  a  rule? 
They  never  have  a  chance  to  become  gentlemen?" 
He  smiled  at  the  drastic  classification. 

"Not  often,  I'm  afraid,  except  in  cases  of 
adoption.  When  people  of  advantages  take  such 
a  child,  he  is  very  apt  to  grow  to  their  level.  They 
would  pick  out  a  promising  one,  of  course." 

A  line  had  settled  between  her  eyes.  "You 
mean  that  they  would  choose  the  cleverest?" 

"Or  the  most  attractive  and  lovable,  perhaps. 
That  is  what  a  woman  with  means  would  look 
for,  I  should  say." 

"Do  such  adoptions  happen  often?" 

"I  have  known  of  a  good  many,  first  and  last, 
some  of  them  wonderfully  successful."  He  waited 

99 


OPEN    HOUSE 

a  moment,  but  she  asked  nothing  more,  so  he 
bent  down  over  his  slide.  It  was  one  of  his 
pleasant  traits  to  answer  unexpected  questions 
categorically,  with  no  query  as  to  why  they  had 
been  put.  "I  have  a  most  interesting  bug  here, 
if  you  would  like  to  see  it,"  he  added.  She  com- 
plied absently;  her  mind  was  still  busy  with 
adoptions. 

"When  people  want  to  adopt  a  child,  do  they 
go  hunting  through  the  asylums?"  she  went  on. 

"  Sometimes." 

"But  of  course,  they  might  not  look  in  the  right 
place,"  she  concluded,  half  to  herself;  then  re- 
turned to  the  microbe  under  investigation.  "Does 
that  mean  a  deadly  disease?" 

"Yes.  The  fellow  will  undoubtedly  die  of  it 
within  the  next  six  or  eight  weeks." 

"Is  he  old?" 

"No:  twenty-six.  He  doesn't  dream  that  there 
is  anything  serious  the  matter." 

She  turned  away  with  a  frown,  but  presently 
asked,  "Shall  you  have  to  tell  him?" 

"Yes."  He  did  not  lift  his  head,  but  the 
deepened  note  in  his  voice  was  like  an  arresting 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  forcing  her  to  confront  for 
a  blighting  moment  the  realities  among  which 
he  lived. 

"Life  is  dreadful!"  she  exclaimed. 

100 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"It  has  dreadful  things  in  it,"  he  admitted  not 
imcheerfully. 

"Aren't  there  times  when  you  loathe  your  pro- 
fession?" 

"Yes,  there  are;"  a  smile  had  crept  into  his 
eyes.  "When  I  have  to  hook  a  patient  up  the 
back,  I  give  you  my  word,  I'd  change  places  with 
a  hod-carrier." 

She  had  to  laugh.  "How  can  you  mind  that, 
when  the  other  things — !" 

"Oh,  they  are  nothing.     I  like  'em." 

"You  must  do  it  rather  well;"  with  a  glance  at 
his  capable,  long-fingered  hands. 

"Shame  and  rage  make  me  bungle,"  he  con- 
fided. "Why  can't  the  critters  come  properly 
hooked  up  the  front?"  Cassandra  wavered  a 
moment,  then  drew  a  long  sigh. 

"I  will  do  it  for  you!"  she  announced.  If  she 
expected  a  protest,  she  was  disappointed:  he  fell 
on  the  suggestion. 

"You  will?  God  bless  you,  Cassandra  Joyce! 
I  am  glad  you're  here." 

"I  shan't  do  it  sympathetically,"  she  warned 
him,  already  a  little  repentant  of  her  offer.    It 
did  not  occur  to  her  —  or,  perhaps,  to  him- 
that  that  service  was  no  more  than  she  owed,  as 
his  assistant.     "I  shall  just  stalk  in  and  out." 

"Get   the  old  things  together,  and  you   may 

IOI 


OPEN    HOUSE 

make  faces  at  them  if  you  like,"  he  returned  with 
the  levity  that  always  startled  and  charmed  her, 
coming  from  one  whose  purposes  were  so  deeply 
earnest. 

"Ah,  it  is  so  nice  of  you  not  to  be  solemn!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Solemn!"  he  repeated  in  surprise. 

"You  are  such  a  frightfully  fine  character,  you 
know :  at  first  I  was  always  expecting  you  to  tell 
me  that  life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,  or  things  to 
that  effect.  But  you  never  do.  You  denounce 
once  in  a  while,"  her  smile  was  reminiscent,  "but 
you  don't  exhort  as  you  go  along.  I  do  like  it." 

He  was  frankly  pleased,  though  he  demurred. 
"I  should  preach  like  thunder  if  I  thought  it  did 
any  good;  but  I  can't  see  that  it  does."  He  rose 
to  put  away  the  microscope,  then  stood  rubbing 
his  eyes,  which  looked  tired.  "Would  it  bore 
you  horribly  to  read  some  medical  stuff  to  me?" 
he  asked.  "Ann  Blossom  usually  does  it  when 
my  eyes  are  bad,  but  to-night  she  seems  to  have  - 

"I  shall  be  glad  to,"  Cassandra  interposed 
rather  stiffly.  He  brought  her  a  pamphlet,  then 
threw  himself  down  on  a  distant  couch.  A  lamp 
stood  at  its  head  and  an  empty  chair  beside  it, 
but  she  stayed  where  she  was,  her  shoulders  ex- 
pressively squared.  She  began  at  once  to  read, 
but  he  broke  in. 

102 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"This  is  a  better  lamp,  Miss  Joyce,"  he  ob- 
served, "and  a  more  comfortable  chair;  and  you 
won't  have  to  read  so  loud.  But  if  you  would 
rather  stay  there,  of  course  - 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Cassandra  politely, 
and,  moving  to  the  chair  beside  him,  she  took  up 
her  suspended  sentence;  but  again  he  interrupted. 

"Tell  me,  does  it  bore  you  too  awfully?"  Her 
eyes  met  his,  and  suddenly  she  laughed.  "Tell 
me,"  he  repeated.  He  had  laid  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair,  and  she  let  her  own  fall  on  it. 

"It  doesn't  bore  me  at  all.  In  fact,  I  like  it. 
Now,  don't  interrupt."  The  instinctive  clasp 
of  their  fingers  resolved  itself  into  a  friendly 
hand-shake.  Then  he  threw  his  arm  across  his 
eyes,  and  she  turned  slightly  away  from  him. 
Her  reading  was  at  first  perfunctory,  but  pres- 
ently it  showed  arrested  attention.  It  was  she 
who  interrupted  now,  and  her  questions  were 
intelligent. 

"Why,  it  is  really  interesting,"  she  exclaimed 
when  she  closed  the  pamphlet,  an  hour  later. 

"Do  you  know,  I  believe  it  is!"  he  mocked  her 
surprise. 

Her  promise  in  the  matter  of  hooks  came  back 
unpleasantly  to  Cassandra  the  next  afternoon 
when  a  hired  carriage  drew  up  at  the  verandah 
step's  and  a  rustle  of  silk  sounded  fussily  at  the 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

glass  doors  whereby  patients  entered.  A  strange 
little  creature  was  hesitating  at  the  threshold. 
Her  diminutive  figure,  the  great  puff  of  her  dull 
sandy  hair,  her  rich  clothes  and  huge  hat,  even 
the  little  ribboned  shoes,  suggested  youth  so 
strongly  that  the  browned,  wrinkled,  withered 
age  of  her  tiny  face  was  shocking.  Cassandra 
had  a  shrinking  impression  of  a  monkey  dressed 
up  in  human  garments:  the  fingers  in  tight  brown 
kid  seemed  to  curl  on  her  parasol  stick  with  a 
dreadful  flexibility. 

"Now,  don't  tell  me  Dr.  Diman  is  out,  or  I 
shall  burst  into  tears!"  It  was  a  gay,  high  voice, 
still  sweet  and  reassuringly  well-bred.  Cassandra 
explained,  with  reserve,  that  he  was  in  his  office, 
but  engaged  for  the  present,  and  the  little  figure 
perched  on  the  edge  of  a  sleepy-hollow  chair  that 
seemed  to  open  to  a  cavernous  depth  behind  her. 

"Oh,  I  can  wait  —  'waiting  at  the  gate,'"  she 
hummed  softly.  "Dr.  Horatio  Flint  sent  me." 
The  great  name  —  even  Cassandra  knew  it  was 
great  —  was  spoken  impressively.  "Do  you  know 
him?" 

"Not  personally."  Cassandra  was  beginning 
to  feel  an  odd  attraction  in  the  queer  little  person. 
Her  brown  eyes  —  the  only  signs  of  life  left  in 
the  shrivelled  face  —  were  bright  with  naive 
friendliness. 

104 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"A  very  remarkable  man,"  was  the  solemn 
declaration,  followed  unexpectedly  by  a  mis- 
chievous chuckle.  "I  can't  bear  him,"  she  con- 
fided. "He  is  too  cold  —  'on  thy  cold  grey 
stones,  O  Sea!'  It  takes  affection  to  cure  people, 
my  dear.  Affection  keeps  them  well,  too.  Why, 
so  long  as  my  boys  were  with  me  —  would  you 
dream  that  I  have  two,  great,  strapping  sons?" 

"I  should  not,"  Cassandra  admitted. 

"Well,  I  have.  They  never  call  me  anything 
but  Flippy  —  my  name  is  Philippa.  It  used  to 
shock  people  so!"  She  laughed  with  delicate 
enjoyment  of  public  horror.  "I  think  Flippy  is  a 
darling  name,  far  sweeter  than  Mama,  don't  you  ? 
'I'm  going  to  be  married,  M'ma,  M'ma!'"  she 
sang  mockingly,  her  face  drawn  up  monkeyishly 
over  the  word.  "They  live  at  the  other  ends  of 
the  world,  but  they  are  perfectly  devoted  to  me, 
my  boys."  Her  gaiety  was  suddenly  quenched 
in  harassed  anxiety  to  be  believed.  "Absolutely 
devoted.  Why,  I  had  a  letter  from  Carlo  not 
four  days  ago.  They  write  all  the  time.  I  could 
show  you  the  letters." 

"Of  course  they  do,"  Cassandra  assented.  The 
little  shapeless  face  lighted  amazingly. 

"Yes  —  the  darlings:  they  adore  their  Flippy. 
Have  you  any  sons?  No?  Then  why  don't  you 
adopt  one?  Women  can't  live  without  children, 


OPEN    HOUSE 

my  dear.  I  should  be  a  perfectly  well  person  if 
I  weren't  so  lonely.  'Can't  you  see  I'm  lonely, 
lonely  as  can  be?'"  she  sang  sentimentally,  then 
broke  off  with  a  ripple  of  laughter.  "Don't  you 
adore  the  warm-flannel  smell  of  a  very  little  boy?" 
she  demanded. 

Cassandra  was  looking  at  her  intently.  "Why 
don't  you  adopt  a  little  boy?"  she  ventured.  The 
readiness  with  which  the  idea  was  received  was 
disconcerting. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  that  be  fun!  Do  you  suppose 
I  could?" 

Cassandra  had  to  doubt  the  lastingness  of  so 
facile  an  enthusiasm,  yet  her  heart  had  a  quick- 
ened beat.  "I  don't  see  why  not!" 

"Oh,  oh!"  She  rocked  excitedly.  "And  he 
could  go  to  all  the  matinees  with  me  —  don't  you 
worship  comic  opera?  I  have  pots  of  money! 
Only  it  would  be  so  hard  to  find  a  pretty,  cuddly 
little  boy  that  no  one  wants." 

"I  know  of  a  perfect  darling,"  said  Cassandra 
slowly. 

"You  do?"  she  started  up  eagerly.  "Could  I 
have  him?" 

"Why,  I  don't  know:  he  is  in  an  orphan  asylum. 
You  could  see  him." 

She  pirouetted  lightly  with  a  wave  of  her  parasol. 
"How  perfectly  lovely!"  Then  the  opening  of 

106 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  office  door  reduced  her  abruptly  to  dignity. 
"Dr.  Diman?  I  am  sent  to  you  by  Dr.  Horatio 
Flint,"  she  announced,  and  entered  the  office 
with  a  silken  sweep. 

Caspar,  after  a  curious  glance  at  his  patient, 
opened  the  sealed  letter  of  introduction  she  had 
brought.  Across  the  outside  was  written,  "Intro- 
ducing Mrs.  Alpheus  Thorndyke."  Within  he 
read: 

DEAR  DIMAN,  — 

For  the  love  of  heaven,  take  this  crazy  old  woman  off  my 
hands.  There  isn't  anything  the  matter  with  her  bodily,  and 
she  is  not  mad  enough  to  be  shut  up  —  worse  luck.  She  will 
take  from  one  to  five  hours  a  day  of  your  time,  if  you  will  let 
her.  Your  well-known  fondness  for  freaks  would  not  excuse 
passing  her  on  to  you,  if  I  did  not  hope  that  you  might  know 
of  some  woman  who  can  take  charge  of  her  under  the  guise  of 
a  companion.  Combination  of  Florence  Nightingale  and  May 
Irwin  needed  for  the  job.  She  can  pay  anything  and  is  very 
open  to  suggestions  —  for  the  moment.  There  are  sons  who 
ought  to  look  after  her,  but  they  don't. 

Hope  you  will  forgive  me. 

Yours  sincerely, 

HORATIO  FLINT. 

There  was  not  a  flaw  in  Caspar's  respectful 
gravity  as  he  slowly  folded  the  letter  and  turned 
to  his  patient.  She  had  shrunk  down  in  her 
chair,  one  little  claw  over  her  heart. 

"I  am  a  very  sick  woman,  Dr.  Diman,"  she 
said  feebly. 

107 


OPEN    HOUSE 

During  the  next  half-hour  Cassandra  mapped 
out  a  pleasant  future  for  Villum,  and  found  her- 
self quite  startlingly  happy  over  his  prospects. 
This  Flippy  was  not  perhaps  a  very  sensible 
woman,  but  she  was  kind  and  rich,  and  Villum 
was  not  one  to  suffer  for  lack  of  intellectual  op- 
portunities. Moreover,  she  had  brought  up  two 
sons,  and  so  must  know  something  about  it.  A 
course  of  comic  opera  might  not  be  wholly  ad- 
visable for  a  little  boy,  but  Villum's  placid  sweet- 
ness had  a  protective  quality,  like  a  coating  of 
varnish  —  he  would  not  easily  be  hurt.  Funny 
little  loving  person!  Satisfaction  swelled  within 
her  at  the  thought  that  he  might  find  a  home,  and 
grow  into  a  gentleman  instead  of  a  day  labourer. 

"I  shall  have  done  one  good  deed  in  this  world, 
anyway,"  she  concluded,  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
for  the  look  Dr.  Diman  would  give  her  when  he 
found  out. 

She  turned  eagerly  when  the  office  door  opened, 
but  Mrs.  Thorndyke  was  deep  in  talk  with  the 
doctor,  and  let  him  put  her  into  the  waiting  car- 
riage without  a  glance  for  his  assistant.  Evi- 
dently she  had  already  forgotten.  In  the  chill  of 
her  disappointment,  Cassandra  would  have  spoken 
to  Dr.  Diman  of  Villum  and  his  fate;  but,  un- 
luckily, another  patient  claimed  him. 

The  disappointment  would  not  be  shaken  off. 
1 08 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Villum's  future  was  not  her  affair,  she  impa- 
tiently reminded  herself;  yet  she  was  still  sitting 
in  idleness  grieving  for  his  lost  chance  when  the 
carriage  came  hurrying  back  and  the  little  figure 
in  swishing  silk  entered  with  a  rush. 

"Whoo-oo!"  she  called.  "What  was  that 
about  the  delicious  baby?  I  almost  forgot.  Can 
I  really  have  him?" 

Cassandra  laughed  with  relief.  "Do  you  want 
to  go  and  see  him  now?"  she  asked. 

"This  minute.     Where  is  he?" 

Cassandra  wrote  Villum's  name  and  the  ad- 
dress on  one  of  Dr.  Diman's  professional  cards, 
and  received  a  fervent  embrace  before  Flippy 
whirled  off.  She  accepted  the  demonstration 
good-humouredly,  feeling  wonderfully  pleased 
with  life  and  with  herself  at  that  moment.  She 
had  meant  to  pay  Villum  a  visit  that  afternoon, 
but,  not  wishing  to  intrude  on  his  first  interview 
with  good  fortune,  she  turned  to  the  garden  when 
her  day's  work  was  done. 

Ann  Blossom,  who  was  weeding  a  bed  of  pan- 
sies,  greeted  her  with  a  welcoming  smile.  Re- 
sentment, .with  Ann,  could  not  outlast  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  if  she  had  not  condoned  the 
heartless  treatment  of  Villum,  she  had  so  em- 
bedded it  in  her  general  kindly  faith  in  others 
that  it  no  longer  wounded.  From  the  trellis  at 

109 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  rear  of  the  house  came  the  cheerful  clip  of 
Ernest's  shears. 

"You  may  pull  some  of  my  weeds,  if  you  like," 
Ann  offered.  "It  is  very  generous  of  me,  for 
there  aren't  half  enough." 

"Do  you  really  like  doing  it?"  Cassandra 
asked,  dropping  on  one  knee  and  drawing  out  a 
small  weed  with  an  air  of  dubious  experiment. 
Ann  was  curled  down  on  the  path  in  a  bunch 
that  must  have  been  anatomically  impossible  to 
most  persons,  frankly  earthy  to  her  elbows,  and 
she  laughed  at  Cassandra's  aloof  method  of 
gardening. 

"I  adore  it  when  the  weeds  are  thick,"  she 
explained.  "It  is  like  cleaning  an  awfully  dusty 
room,  or  taking  a  bath  when  you  have  been  out 
in  good  country  dirt  all  day  —  there  is  something 
to  show  for  it." 

Cassandra  pulled  another  weed,  then  dusted 
her  fingers  and  rose  to  her  feet.  "Someway,  this 
does  not  appeal  to  me.  Perhaps  the  weeds  are 
not  thick  enough.  I  will  see  if  I  like  Mr.  Cun- 
ningham's work  any  better."  And  she  strolled  on, 
not  noticing  how  the  girl's  vivid  face  had  clouded. 

A  wheelbarrow  stood  beside  Ernest's  ladder, 
and  she  seated  herself  in  it  on  a  cushion  of  honey- 
suckle sprays. 

"I  am  so  tired  of  this  gardening  fad,"  she  corn- 
no 


OPEN    HOUSE 

plained.  "I  made  some  visits  in  England,  last 
year,  and  it  was  nothing  but  bulbs  and  annuals 
and  fertilizers  from  morning  till  night.  It  bored 
me  almost  to  tears.  You  are  not  listening/'  she 
added. 

"Indeed,  I  am.  But  I  am  wondering  if  I  dare 
say  something  to  you." 

"Why  not?" 

The  clipping  had  stopped  and  he  was  absently 
stabbing  the  top  of  the  ladder  with  his  shears. 
"I  have  been  trying  to  confess  for  two  days.  Day 
before  yesterday  I  went  over  to  the  Sacred  Heart 
asylum  with  some  clothes  that  had  been  sent  in 
for  the  children." 

Her  "Oh!"  showed  irritation  as  well  as  en- 
lightenment. 

"I  saw  you  there  with  little  Villum  in  your 
lap,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  her  with  a  smile. 
"Please  pardon  me  for  finding  you  out  —  though 
I  can't  really  be  sorry,  for  I  had  been  misjudging 
you." 

"No,  you  hadn't,"  she  insisted  impatiently. 
"I  know  what  you  are  thinking  —  the  opening 
of  the  chestnut  burr  and  all  that.  It  is  nothing 
of  the  kind.  This  was  merely  —  an  accident." 

"Such  accidents  don't  happen  accidentally, 
Miss  Joyce.  I  saw  a  great  deal  through  that 
open  door." 

in 


OPEN   HOUSE 

"You  saw  a  perfectly  conventional  mother- 
and-child  tableau,  a  chromolithograph,  a  mag- 
azine cover.  I  refuse  to  let  you  be  moved  by 
anything  so  cheaply  obvious."  She  laughed  with 
returning  good-humour,  but  broke  off  to  ask 
quickly,  "Did  you  tell  anyone?" 

"Assuredly  not."  He  seemed  shocked  at  the 
suggestion.  "But  you  will  let  the  others  know, 
sooner  or  later?" 

She  smiled  to  herself  at  thought  of  how  the  tale 
might  come  out,  when  little  Villum  went  glori- 
ously away  to  grow  up  into  a  gentleman.  "Per- 
haps, some  day,"  she  said. 

He  was  troubled.  "Why  not  now?"  he  urged. 
"You  don't  realize  how  a  little  false  impression  - 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  false  impressions," 
she  interrupted.  "It  is  my  secret,  you  know." 

"Oh,  of  course.  But  I  think  you  are  making 
a  mistake." 

"So  much  the  better,"  she  returned  cheerfully. 
"There  would  be  no  sporting  element  in  a  life 
without  mistakes.  Haven't  you  ever  made  any 
and  been  glad  of  it  —  you  cautious  son  of  New 
England?" 

His  glance  strayed  towards  the  pansy  bed  where 
Ann  was  bending  over  the  weeds,  her  face  turned 
away  from  him.  "Yes,  one,"  he  admitted. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

112 


OPEN   HOUSE 

"I  made  the  inexcusable  mistake  of  overwork- 
ing and  injuring  my  eyes." 

She  looked  up  curiously.  "And  you  are  glad 
of  that?" 

"I  am  very  deeply  glad  of  that." 

"Why?"  To  her  surprise,  he  flushed.  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated;  then, 

"It  brought  me  here;  and  one  may  see  very 
wonderful  things  through  dark  glasses,  Miss 
Joyce,"  he  said,  with  his  little  bow  of  gallantry.  . 

"Does  the  man  mean  me?"  was  her  startled 
thought.  She  had  a  frown  of  annoyance  for  the 
idea,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  a  contradictory  stir- 
ring of  satisfaction.  Any  variation  from  the  diet 
of  husks  to  which  she  had  been  subjected  must 
prove  tempting.  She  had  no  intention  of  feeding 
this  helpless  young  professor  to  her  starved  van- 
ity; yet  she  permitted  it,  so  to  speak,  a  nibble. 

"Truly?"  There  was  a  glimmer  of  mischief 
in  her  eyes.  "If  I  were  to  put  them  on  at  this 
moment,  what  should  I  see?" 

"If  you  could  tell  me  exactly  what  you  see 
without  them,"  he  began  with  a  little  laugh  of 
excitement,  settling  down  on  the  ladder  as  though 
the  curtain  were  just  going  up.  Ann  at  the  other 
side  of  the  lawn  pulled  up  a  pansy  and  flung  it 
on  her  pile  of  weeds. 

"I  see  a  very  chivalrous  and  kindly  gentleman," 


OPEN    HOUSE 

said  Cassandra,  leaning  back  on  a  stiffened  arm 
that  she  might  look  up  at  him  more  comfortably. 
"How  could  dark  glasses  improve  on  that?" 

"They  might  make  you  think  that  what  you 
so  graciously  call  chivalry  and  kindliness  were 
the  qualities  that  you  most  admired,"  was  the 
unexpectedly  acute  answer.  Ernest  was  happily 
aware  that  he  had  scored;  he  had  an  air  of  crow- 
ing down  at  her  as  he  clasped  one  knee  and 
rocked  triumphantly  back  on  his  narrow  seat. 

"Ah,  you  are  nice,"  she  admitted,  and  her 
appreciative  laugh  carried  the  words  across  the 
lawn.  Ann  started  up,  as  though  she  had  sud- 
denly remembered  something,  and  hurried  into 
the  house.  Ernest's  spirits  flagged  somewhat 
after  she  had  gone:  he  did  not  again  score  so 
neatly.  Yet  he  was  decidedly  better  than  nothing. 
Cassandra  stayed  until  she  saw  the  doctor's 
carriage  return,  when  she  strolled  back  to  the  big 
living-room. 

The  same  sound  had  evidently  summoned  Ann 
down-stairs,  for  she  had  paused,  leaning  on  the 
banister,  while  he  answered  the  telephone.  Stray 
words  of  his  conversation  brought  Cassandra  to 
an  abrupt  halt  in  the  doorway. 

"But  I  don't  understand.  I  haven't  sent  you 
anyone,"  he  was  explaining  with  a  puzzled  frown. 
"William  Schmidt  —  oh,  Villum,  of  course.  But 

114 


OPEN   HOUSE 

I  have  not  .  .  .  My  card,  you  say  ?  That  is  very 
strange.  .  .  .  Yes,  a  Mrs.  Thorndyke  was  here  to- 
day to  consult  me,  but  I  certainly  did  not .  .  .  What 
young  lady?  .  .  .Oh,  I  hadn't  known  that.  Pos- 
sibly she  may  have.  I  will  do  what  I  can  at  once, 
Sister  Agnes.  I  will  call  you  up  in  a  few  min- 
utes." He  hung  up  the  receiver  with  perturbed 
haste.  "Ann,  I  didn't  know  that  you  had  been 
visiting  Villum,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  haven't.  I  meant  to  see  them  all,  but  some 


wav  — " 


"But  Sister  Agnes  says  — 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  the  guilty  one,"  Cassandra 
broke  in,  rather  nervously.  Their  amazement 
was  scarcely  flattering.  "I  am  sorry,  but  it 
really  was  I,"  she  insisted  with  a  resentful  motion 
of  her  eyebrows.  "I  have  been  to  see  him  any 
number  of  times." 

"Did  you  send  Mrs.  Thorndyke  there  to-day 
with  one  of  my  cards?"  Caspar's  look  was  not 
the  one  she  had  anticipated  at  the  discovery  of 
her  good  deed. 

"I  did,"  she  said  shortly,  turning  away  as  from 
a  closed  topic. 

"Please  explain,  Miss  Joyce."  Caspar  was 
making  a  visible  effort  at  patience.  He  had  had 
a  racking  day,  and  the  picture  he  had  seen  by  the 
trellis  as  he  drove  in  had  irritated  and  disheartened 

"5 


OPEN    HOUSE 

him  —  solely  on  Ann's  account,  he  told  himself. 
Under  his  forced  temperance  he  was  savagely 
glad  of  a  legitimate  cause  for  disapproval;  and 
Cassandra  felt  it  without  understanding. 

"Why,  it  was  simply  that  Mrs.  Thorndyke  told 
me  she  wished  to  adopt  a  child;  that  she  had 
money  and  was  lonely.  I  have  become  rather 
interested  in  Villum,  and  this  seemed  a  good 
chance  for  him,  so  I  told  her  to  look  him  up.  I 
don't  see  anything  so  very  heinous  in  that." 

"The  mistake  was  in  using  one  of  my  cards," 
Caspar  explained  shortly,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"That  gave  her  a  sort  of  passport  there,  so  that 
she  was  left  alone  with  him  in  the  visitors' 
room." 

"And  what  was  the  harm  of  that,  may  I 
ask?" 

"The  harm  of  that  was  that  she  has  walked 
off  with  him."  He  was  running  his  eyes  down  a 
time  table.  "Ann,  dear,  will  you  bring  me  a 
glass  of  milk?  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  get 
any  dinner.  Mrs.  Thorndyke  is  about  two-thirds 
insane,"  he  added  to  Cassandra. 

She  stood  aghast.  "I  didn't  know  that,"  she 
muttered.  Not  looking  at  her,  he  did  not  see 
the  distress  in  her  eyes;  her  voice  sounded  merely 
sulky. 

"Put  —  good  Lord !  —  if  you  talked  to  her  two 
116 


OPEN    HOUSE 

minutes,  how  could  you  think  she  was  a  suitable 
person  to  bring  up  a  child?"  he  exclaimed.  Her 
eyes  filled. 

"She  seemed  —  kind,"  she  said  unsteadily; 
"and  he  isn't  clever,  anyway  —  only  very  lov- 
ing. I  wanted  to  -  Then  she  put  away  self- 
defense  with  a  quick  upward  motion  of  her  head. 
"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?" 

He  had  turned  back  to  the  telephone.  "Oh, 
we  shall  undoubtedly  find  him  with  no  trouble," 
he  said  indifferently.  "Thank  you,  Ann;  you're 
a  comfort." 

Cassandra  waited  until  he  had  finished  talking 
with  the  asylum,  then  spoke  out  of  a  new  and 
choking  humility. 

"Why  can't  I  go  to  the  city  instead  of  you?  I 
made  the  trouble  —  it  is  only  fair  that  I  should 
undo  it." 

"I  am  afraid  you  couldn't."  He  did  not  look 
at  her,  but  he  spoke  more  gently.  "Tell  Ernest 
that  I  may  telephone  for  him  to  come  and  help," 
he  added  to  Ann,  and  laid  his  hand  for  an  instant 
on  her  shoulder  as  he  went  away.  Cassandra 
turned  swiftly  to  her  own  room. 

"It  is  never  right,  what  I  do  —  it  is  never 
right!"  she  stormed. 

Mrs.  Thorndyke  had  not  returned  to  the  apart- 
ment hotel  where  she  lived,  either  with  or  without 

117 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Villum.  Caspar  had  found  out  at  the  station 
that  the  two  had  taken  the  train  together  —  they 
were  a  couple  to  be  noted  and  remembered;  and 
at  the  ferry  he  found  a  cab  that  had  carried  them 
to  a  children's  clothing  store;  but  there  all  trace 
of  them  ended.  It  was  possible  that  they  had 
gone  driving  in  the  park,  and  he  made  a  futile 
trip  to  the  Zoo  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  them 
there,  then  returned  wearily  to  the  hotel  to  see  if 
dinner-time  would  not  produce  them.  When  it 
did  not,  he  telephoned  for  Ernest  and  took  the 
manager  of  the  hotel  into  his  confidence. 

"You'll  find  her  at  a  theatre,"  he  prophesied, 
so,  while  Ernest  tried  the  various  hotels,  he  drove 
from  box  office  to  box  office.  Only  the  roof 
gardens  and  the  frivolities  of  the  "silly  season" 
were  running.  The  hot  streets  seemed  to  Caspar 
squalid  and  charmless;  the  vulgar  imbecility  of 
the  shows  in  progress  made  him  stare  in  wonder 
at  the  laughing,  intent  faces  of  the  audiences. 
"I  am  a  thousand  years  old!"  was  his  silent  con- 
clusion as  the  last  of  them  failed  to  give  any  signs 
of  the  queer  couple  he  sought. 

He  and  Ernest  met  by  agreement  at  half-past 
nine,  neither  with  any  news.  Caspar  was  not 
anxious  for  Villum's  bodily  safety;  but  the  affair 
was  beginning  to  look  serious  enough  without 
that.  He  could  not  know  to  what  degree  Mrs. 

118 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Thorndyke  was  irresponsible,  and  Dr,  Flint  had 
left  town. 

"There  is  one  concert  I  want  to  try;  and  then 
we  shall  have  to  go  to  the  police,"  he  decided 
reluctantly. 

Fully  a  thousand  persons  were  grouped  about 
the  little  tables  of  the  huge,  barnlike  concert 
hall.  Iced  air  was  rumbling  up  through  great 
funnels  at  the  corners,  iced  drinks  were  skimming 
overhead  on  high-poised  trays.  Surprising  social 
divergences  marked  the  different  tables;  each 
group  was  complete  in  itself,  and  cared  not  who 
might  be  its  neighbour.  The  two  men  made 
their  way  slowly  down  the  length  of  the  hall, 
looking  about  with  little  expectation;  and  yet, 
at  the  far  end,  they  came  suddenly  upon  an  un- 
mistakable little  figure  in  elaborate  brown  silk, 
with  a  mass  of  hair  puffed  out  youthfully  under 
her  huge  hat,  her  tiny  beribboned  shoes  tucked 
up  on  the  rung  of  the  next  chair.  Her  face  was 
turned  away,  and  for  a  dismaying  moment  they 
thought  she  was  alone.  Then  they  saw  a  tow 
head  resting  on  her  lap,  the  broad  face  upturned 
in  abysmal  slumber,  while  the  plump  body,  clad 
in  a  wonderful  new  suit,  drooped  helplessly  over 
the  edges  of  an  inadequate  chair  seat.  Two 
empty  glasses,  foamy  and  pink-edged,  stood  on 
their  table,  and  the  restless,  withered  face,  as  they 

119 


approached,  was  almost  as  peaceful  as  Villum's. 
They  made  their  appearance  as  casual  and  un- 
startling  as  possible,  but  her  charmingly  friendly 
eyes  did  not  show  a  flicker  of  alarm.  She  greeted 
Dr.  Diman  with  a  laugh  of  delight,  and  extended 
a  cordial  little  brown  claw  to  Ernest. 

"How  jolly  to  meet  here,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  coming  over 
to-night?" 

"We  didn't  know  it  ourselves,"  was  Caspar's 
truthful  answer  as  they  drew  up  two  vacant  chairs 
and  beckoned  a  waiter.  "You  will  take  soda  or 
something  with  us,  won't  you?  We  have  a 
Sahara  thirst." 

"Ah,  you  have  been  doing  the  town!"  she 
reproved  him,  with  joy  in  his  obliquity. 

"God  knows,  we  have,"  he  assented,  a  hand  at 
his  tired  forehead. 

"I  knew  you  were  nice  and  human  —  not  like 
that  stuffy  old  Flint,"  she  assured  him.  "No, 
nothing  more  for  me  —  we  have  had  dozens.  It 
has  been  such  a  spree!  What  do  you  think  of 
my  new  baby?"  And  she  gently  turned  the  pink 
face  toward  them,  her  eyes  alight  with  pride. 

"I  think  you  took  him  rather  abruptly,"  Cas- 
par observed.  She  chuckled  with  monkeyish 
wickedness. 

"Wasn't  I  clever?  But  there  is  always  so 
1 20 


OPEN   HOUSE 

much  red  tape  at  those  places,  and  your  young 
lady  said  I  could  have  him.  So  we  just '  skipped 
by  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  moon!'"  she  ended 
with  a  trill  of  song  that  drew  curious  glances 
toward  her. 

"Yes;  but  how  do  you  think  they  are  feeling, 
the  people  who  have  charge  of  that  young  man?" 
Caspar  asked. 

"Who  cares?  They  aren't  his  mother.  Ah, 
we  are  going  to  be  so  happy  together,  this  little 
Florizel  and  I!"  She  bent  over  him  crooningly. 
"Flippy's  little  sleepy  boy!  Old  honey  love! 
Don't  you  think  Florizel  is  a  pretty  name  for 
him?" 

Caspar's  eyes  were  warmly  sorry.  "What  will 
your  boys  think,  if  you  get  so  fond  of  someone 
else's  boy?"  he  suggested.  The  next  train  did 
not  go  for  over  an  hour,  so  he  had  time  to  try 
indirect  methods.  Her  face  clouded  piteously. 

"An,  they  are  devoted  to  me,  my  boys,"  she 
assured  him  eagerly.  "They  adore  their  Flippy 
—  they  write  all  the  time.  You  mustn't  think 
they  aren't  devoted,  for  they  are,  they  are!" 
Then  her  distress  vanished  in  a  ripple  of  laughter. 
"It  will  be  such  fun  to  tell  them  about  their  new 
little  brother!  They  might  even  come  on  to  see 
him  —  Carlo  is  only  in  Omaha,  and  he  hasn't 
any  little  children  of  his  own.  Old  pudding!" 

121 


OPEN    HOUSE 

She  rearranged  the  child's  tie  and  collar  with 
maternal  fussiness,  while  the  doctor  met  and 
silently  answered  a  questioning  glance  from 
Ernest.  They  must  not  go  back  without  Villum, 
even  for  one  night. 

The  orchestra  began  its  last  number,  and  they 
sat  in  silence  until  it  was  finished  and  the  audi- 
ence had  started  out.  Then  Caspar  rose. 

"I  am  afraid  you  must  let  me  take  Villum 
back,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "You 
see,  they  are  all  horribly  frightened  about  him." 

"They  might  have  known  I  would  take  good 
care  of  him!"  she  returned  indignantly.  "I 
guess  I  have  brought  up  two  great  strapping  sons 
-it's  more  than  those  old  nuns  ever  did." 

"Well,  you  know  there  is  a  law  about  kidnap- 
ping," he  reminded  her,  and  stooped  to  pick  up 
the  sleeping  Villum.  Two  furious  little  claws 
fought  him  off. 

"You  shan't  take  him  from  me!  You  shan't!" 
she  cried  shrilly.  The  crowd  about  them  paused 
to  stare.  Caspar  laid  a  quieting  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  making  an  instant  decision. 

"Suppose  you  both  come  home  with  me,"  he 
said.  "You  may  hold  him  all  the  way,  if  you 
like."  She  was  easily  persuaded  to  that,  but  there 
was  another  struggle  before  she  would  let  anyone 
else  carry  the  boy. 

122 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"How  do  I  know  you  aren't  cheating  me?" 
she  wailed.  "You  will  snatch  him  and  run 
away.  People  are  always  cheating  me!" 

"I  shall  not  cheat  you;"  his  earnestness  made 
itself  felt,  calming  her  instantly.  "If  you  like, 
we  will  let  Mr.  Cunningham  carry  him,  and  you 
shall  take  his  arm  and  mme.  You  can't  lift 
Villum  yourself,  you  know."  So  they  went  out 
oddly  linked,  not  even  breaking  the  chain  when 
they  entered  a  carriage.  They  might  have  caused 
comment  anywhere  else;  but  midsummer  New 
York  finds  nothing  unusual.  Mrs.  Thorndyke, 
with  Florizel  restored  to  her  arms,  became  tran- 
quil again,  but  when  they  stopped  at  the  hotel 
for  her  things,  Caspar  had  to  go  up-stairs  with 
her  as  a  proof  of  good  faith.  She  brought  away 
a  pile  of  packages  that  had  been  delivered  that 
evening. 

"My  little  FlorizeFs  outfit,"  she  explained. 

While  they  waited  at  the  ferry,  Ernest  tele- 
phoned the  news  of  Villum's  safety,  and  also  sent 
off  a  telegram  informing  Mr.  Charles  Thorn- 
dyke  of  Omaha  that  his  mother's  mental  condi- 
tion required  the  immediate  presence  of  some 
member  of  her  family.  Caspar  himself  did  not 
stray  a  foot  from  his  charge,  though  his  entirely 
casual  manner  gave  no  hint  of  guardianship. 

"I  think  it  is  jolly  to  be  going  home  with  you," 
123 


OPEN   HOUSE 

she  assured  him.  "I  liked  your  house,  and  I 
adored  that  big,  handsome  young  lady.  Is  she 
your  wife?" 

Caspar  looked  startled.  "Oh,  no;  my  assist- 
ant. Here  is  our  boat,"  he  added  hastily,  raising 
Villum  to  his  shoulder. 

Ann  was  the  only  person  waiting  to  receive 
them.  She  had  made  up  a  bed  for  Villum  in 
her  own  room,  and,  after  seeing  him  tucked  up 
there,  Mrs.  Thorndyke  was  easily  persuaded  to 
go  to  bed  in  a  little  room  adjoining.  When  she 
had  been  made  comfortable,  Ann  came  back  to 
Caspar,  who  was  closing  the  house. 

"I  am  so  sorry  I  called  her  heartless,"  she  said 
abruptly.  "Miss  Joyce,  I  mean.  She  told  me 
—  I  made  her  —  that  she  ran  after  Villum  that 
day  and  comforted  him;  and  she  has  been  to 
see  him  ever  since.  I  am  so  ashamed  of  my- 
self!" Tears  rose  in  her  eyes. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  advised;  but  he  looked 
rather  unhappy  himself. 

"I  have  to  when  I  have  been  unfair.  And, 
doctor  dearest,  I  think  you  hurt  her  very  much. 
She  meant  so  kindly,  and  you  were  so- 

" Savage?"  he  helped  her  out. 

"Oh,  no  —  oh,  never!  But  one  just  can't  bear 
to  have  you  unfriendly!" 

"Can't  one?"  He  laughed  at  her.  "Well,  I 
124 


OPEN    HOUSE 

will  apologize  in  the  morning.  Now  go  to  bed, 
generous  Ann  —  you  look  tired." 

"Her  light  is  still  lit,"  Ann  ventured,  as  she 
obeyed. 

Late  as  it  was,  Caspar  lingered  a  while  opening 
letters  and  forgetting  to  read  them,  or  absently 
turning  over  pamphlets.  Pretence  at  occupation 
ended  presently  in  frank  abstraction.  Then  he 
took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote : 

DEAR  CASSANDRA  JOYCE,  — 

Please  forgive  my  bearishness.  You  would  if  you  knew 
how  sorry  I  am.  I  have  brought  your  Villum  back  safe  and 
sound,  and  gorgeous  in  new  raiment.  So  you  won't  hold  it 
up  against  me,  will  you?  One  can't  bear  to  have  people 
unfriendly.  Goodnight. 

\-s  .          I   -     . 

He  slipped  this  under  his  assistant's  door, 
where  a  line  of  light  still  showed,  and  heard  a 
quick  step  within  as  he  went  on. 


Miss  MYRTLE  had  not  been  told  of  Villum's 
disappearance  —  those  who  lived  with  her  grad- 
ually acquired  the  habit  of  not  telling  her  things 
that  could  give  excuse  for  lamentation;  and  she 
had  gone  up-stairs  before  the  news  of  his  finding 
came.  She  always  went  to  her  room  early,  hav- 
ing a  great  many  small  offices  that  must  be  per- 
formed before  she  could  fittingly  go  to  sleep. 
No  one  ever  quite  found  out  what  these  were, 
though  chance  openings  of  the  door  sometimes 
revealed  her  sewing  in  ruchings  with  hunted 
earnestness,  or  washing  bits  of  lace  in  the  hand 
basin,  or  twisting  her  abundant  grey  hair  into 
crimping  instruments.  Caspar,  hearing  her 
heavy  step  over  his  head  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
one  night,  finally  arose  and  went  up,  between 
amusement  and  exasperation,  to  see  what  she  was 
doing.  A  row  of  polished  boots  and  three  piece 
bags  in  wonderful  order  were  her  justification. 

"I  have  to  do  these  things  evenings,  Caspar; 
I  don't  have  a  minute  all  day,"  she  explained  in 
dignified  resentment,  and  he  went  back  outwardly 
routed,  though  secretly  wondering  a  little  if 

126 


OPEN    HOUSE 

housekeeping  were  really  so  much  more  arduous 
than  a  growing  and  complex  medical  practice. 

When  she  did  give  herself  over  to  sleep,  Miss 
Myrtle  slept  heavily,  and  so  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  night  arrivals  when  she  came  down-stairs  the 
morning  after  Villum's  adventure.  It  was  her 
theory  that,  living  in  Caspar's  house,  she  was 
always  prepared  for  the  worst;  but  her  horrified 
pause  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  showed  her  spirit 
still  far  from  broken. 

Below,  on  a  rug,  sat  a  tiny,  weazened  old  woman 
clad  in  silken  finery,  her  fading  hair  bushed  and 
puffed  and  adorned  with  a  white  rose,  her  little 
claws  doing  marvellous  things  with  jackstones, 
while,  seated  facing  her,  a  blond  little  boy  in  a 
new  suit  looked  on  in  heavy-eyed  wonder  and 
tried  in  vain  to  emulate.  Villum  had  evidently 
accepted  the  fact  that  life  has  kaleidoscopic 
changes;  that  one  frequently  finds  oneself  handed 
over  to  some  new  guardian,  or  wakes  up  in  a 
strange  bed.  Accordingly,  he  wasted  no  time 
in  wondering,  but  turned  all  his  placid  attention 
to  the  matter  in  hand.  A  sneeze  that  threatened 
to  lift  his  short  legs  off  the  rug  seemed  to 
restore  to  Miss  Myrtle  the  use  of  her  faculties. 
She  turned  and  went  swiftly  back  along  the  upper 
hall  to  Caspar's  door,  which  opened  at  her  step. 

"  Hello,  Myrtle,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
127 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Caspar,  who  is  that  woman?"  she  cried. 
Caspa£  had  not  slept  well,  and  was  tired;  for 
once,  he  let  Myrtle's  despair  irritate  him. 

"A  guest  who  will  stay  in  my  house  for  several 
days,"  he  answered  incisively.  He  might  as 
well  have  kept  his  temper,  for  all  the  impression 
he  made. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"I  don't  think  you  will  notice  anything.  She 
is  somewhat  flighty  and  irresponsible." 

"And  the  child?" 

"Don't  you  remember  Villum?" 

"Is  he  to  stay,  too?" 

"Really,  Myrtle,  I  can't  be  put  through  this 
sort  of  catechism  every  time  I  open  my  doors  to 
anyone.  I  wish  you  would  grasp  the  fact  that 
you  can't  make  me  over."  His  most  unusual 
sharpness  finally  reached  her;  her  mouth  took 
an  injured  droop. 

"If  you  had  to  do  the  housekeeping  for  one 
week,  Caspar,"  she  was  beginning,  when  he  cut  in. 

"Very  well;  some  day  I  will."  It  was  not  a 
threat,  but  a  quiet  decision.  "I  am  too  rushed 
just  now,  but  very  soon  I  shall  send  you  away  for 
a  while,  and  investigate  for  myself  this  mighty 
business  of  housekeeping."  And  he  walked  coolly 
away,  leaving  his  sister  for  ,0nce  thoroughly  im- 
pressed. 

128 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Mrs.  Thorndyke  greeted  the  doctor  with  a 
friendly  gaiety  that  struck  him  as  artificial,  and 
he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  that  she  was  tensely 
ready  for  a  sudden  movement  as  he  bent  down  to 
rub  an  affectionate  hand  over  Villum's  head. 
Partly  as  a  test,  he  suggested  to  the  child  that  he 
go  up  and  knock  on  the  door  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"You  will  find  someone  you  know  there,"  he 
explained.  She  watched  uneasily  as  the  child 
toiled  up  baby  fashion,  the  right  leg  leading. 

"He  might  fall,"  she  suggested,  starting  to  her 
feet. 

"Oh,  no,  he  won't."  Commonplace  as  Cas- 
par's tone  was,  it  conveyed  a  command,  and  she 
reluctantly  sank  down  again.  They  heard  the 
soft  thud  on  the  panels  above,  then  a  little  crow 
of  "Mine  own  lady!"  before  the  door  closed  on 
him.  Mrs.  Thorndyke  was  so  plainly  unhappy 
that  he  took  both  her  restless  hands,  forcing  her 
attention. 

"I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,"  he  commanded. 
"I  am  going  to  make  you  a  promise,  and  —  I  — 
shall  —  not  —  break  —  it.  Not  one  thing  shall 
be  done  with  you  or  Villum  without  its  being  all 
talked  over  with  you  first.  I  am  not  going  to 
cheat  you  or  to  take  him  away  by  stealth.  You 
shall  have  fair  warning  of  any  change.  I  want 

129 


OPEN    HOUSE 

you  to  believe  me."  Her  eyes,  which  had  been 
searching  his  face,  brimmed  with  tears. 

"Then  I  may  keep  him?"  she  cried. 

"You  may  keep  him  here  all  to-day,  and  to- 
morrow, and  the  next  day;"  he  promised,  "then 
we  will  have  another  talk  about  it."  He  had 
already  received  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Charles 
Thorndyke  saying  that  he  was  starting  at  once. 

She  darted  lightly  to  her  feet. 

"Here  we  go  round  the  barbary  bush,'  "  she 
sang  invitingly,  as  Villum  reappeared,  clasping 
Cassandra  by  the  hand.  "Come  and  have  a 
game,  Florizel.  You  play,  too  —  you're  that  nice, 
handsome  young  lady.  Let's  all  play  barbary 
bush!" 

She  held  out  her  hands  to  Caspar  and  Cassan- 
dra, who  gravely  took  them,  and  the  three  circled 
to  her  chanting  about  the  enraptured  Villum. 
Miss  Myrtle,  appearing  in  the  doorway  to  an- 
nounce breakfast,  stood  silently  staring  at  them 
with  an  expression  that  called  out  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  her  brother. 

"'So  early  in  the  morning,'"  he  echoed,  catch- 
ing up  Villum  and  swinging  him  to  his  shoulder. 
"We're  coming,  Myrtle."  Flippy,  he  noticed, 
followed  without  anxiety;  for  the  present,  at 
least,  she  was  reassured. 

Villum  had  little  appetite  for  breakfast,  and 
130 


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Caspar  glanced  more  than  once  at  his  heavy  eyes 
and  flushed  cheeks.  As  they  left  the  table,  an- 
other violent  sneeze  almost  heaved  him  off  his 
balance. 

"Too  much  party  yesterday,"  Caspar  com- 
mented, putting  his  finger  into  the  soft  neck.  "I 
suspect  that  somebody  has  taken  cold.  Come 
here,  Villum,  and  let  your  doctor  overhaul 
you." 

Villum  offered  himself  up  with  his  lovely 
trustingness,  and  made  no  objection  when  it  was 
decided  that  he  would  be  better  off  in  bed. 

"I  will  go  to  mine  own  lady's  bed,"  he  an- 
nounced, tipping  back  his  head  so  that  all  his 
broad  pink  face  was  upturned  to  Cassandra. 

"What  does  your  own  lady  say  to  that?" 

"I  suppose  it  would  be  easier  to  look  after  him 
there,"  she  admitted  indifferently.  "Shall  I  let 
the  Sisters  know?" 

"Yes,  please.  Say  he  has  a  cold  and  we  will 
keep  him  for  the  present.  You  will  help  us  take 
care  of  him,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Thorndyke?"  She 
had  been  listening  with  quick,  suspicious  glances, 
but  her  face  cleared  brilliantly  at  the  appeal. 

"Ah,  what  fun  we  shall  have!"  she  cried. 
"Won't  you  please  all  call  me  Flippy?" 

"To  be  sure,"  Caspar  assented,  setting  Villum 
down.  "Now  let  Flippy  get  you  to  bed,  old 


OPEN    HOUSE 

man.    Your  own  lady  will  come  and  see  you  by 
and  by." 

Villum  put  up  an  obedient  little  hand  and  they 
went  up-stairs  accompanied  by  the  jackstones  and 
a  picture  book.  Caspar  looked  after  them  with 
a  suppressed  laugh. 

"Keeping  Villum  in  bed  won't  hurt  him,  and 
it  will  anchor  her  down,"  he  observed.  "  'Flippy' ! 
It  doesn't  sound  exactly  respectful,  but  if  she 
wants  it  — !" 

"Shall  you  encourage  her  to  call  you  Caspar?" 
There  was  an  odd  pleasure  in  using  his  name 
even  indirectly. 

"If  she  likes,  poor  little  critter." 

"Won't  she  make  a  dreadful  fuss  when  Villum 
is  taken  away  from  her?" 

"Her  son  is  coming  from  Omaha,  and  I  am 
hoping  that  the  excitement  of  that  will  divert 
her." 

"And  if  it  does  not?" 

"Then  I  am  afraid  she  will  have  to  be  un- 
happy;" his  voice  was  warmly  compassionate. 
"In  any  case,  she  is  not  to  be  tricked  or  cheated. 
Sane  or  insane,  I  am  certain  that  always  causes 
more  friction  than  it  saves." 

"I  have  made  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  observed 
Cassandra,  dispassionately. 

"You  couldn't  know,"  he  comforted  her. 
132 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Miss  Snell,  hearing  of  the  new  guests,  firmly 
kept  her  room  all  the  morning. 

"I  can't  do  anything  with  her,"  Ann  reported, 
coming  down  with  her  luncheon  tray.  "She  says 
that  strangers  make  her  nervous,  and  she  is  better 
off  up  there;  but  she  doesn't  seem  at  all  happy." 
Caspar  was  leaving  for  a  consultation,  but  he 
paused,  looked  at  his  watch,  then  turned  to  the 
stairs. 

"I'll  fix  her,"  he  assured  them. 

"He  will;"  Ann  asserted  to  Cassandra  and 
Ernest  with  a  satisfied  nod.  "She  is  jealous, 
that's  all  —  poor  old  thing." 

"Jealous!"  Cassandra  had  a  frown  of  amaze- 
ment for  the  word. 

"Well,  she  hates  to  have  him  get  very  much 
interested  in  a  new  patient,"  Ann  explained  in- 
dulgently. "She  can't  help  wanting  to  be  first 
with  him.  It  is  very  natural."  And  she  took 
Miss  Snell's  cushions  out  to  the  garden  in  per- 
fect confidence  of  the  issue.  Cassandra  looked 
rather  blank. 

" Miss  Snell,  too ! "  she  said  ironically.  "Really, 
they  ought  to  form  themselves  into  a  club,  the 
doctor's  adorers." 

"When  we  do,  I  am  sure  you  will  insist  on 
being  enrolled,"  Ernest  declared,  his  boldness 
tempered  by  a  smile  of  apology. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Oh,  I  daresay  I  shall  be  president,"  she 
retorted. 

"Tell  me  —  haven't  you  come  to  feel  about  him 
a  little  as  we  do?" 

"He  is,  of  course,  unusual,"  she  admitted  dryly, 
after  a  pause. 

"Unusual!"  Then  the  school  master  in  him 
checked  his  warm  protest  at  her  inadequacy. 
"And  just  what  do  you  mean  by  unusual?" 

"Rather  more  generous  than  the  average." 
Her  coolness  was  now  deliberately  provocative; 
she  felt  an  acute  desire  to  make  him  flare  up 
again  for  the  honour  of  his  friend.  And  she  was 
not  disappointed.  He  was  still  earnestly  holding 
forth  on  what  "that  man"  had  done  for  various 
maimed  and  broken  lives  when  Caspar  appeared 
at  the  stair-head,  Miss  Snell  leaning  on  his  arm. 
Ernest's  abrupt  halt  was  awkward;  indeed,  both 
looked  self-conscious,  separating  with  the  effect 
of  leaving  an  unfinished  sentence  suspended. 
The  buggy  was  waiting,  but,  after  establishing 
Miss  Snell  in  the  garden,  Caspar  came  slowly 
back,  pulling  on  his  glove. 

"Cassandra  Joyce,  what  am  I  going  to  do  with 
you?"  he  exclaimed.  He  was  not  joking;  the 
look  that  met  her  quick  upward  glance  was  stern. 

"Am  I  in  the  way?"  she  asked  coldly,  after 
a  frightened  pause. 

134 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Not  in  my  way;  but  sometimes  you  frighten 
me  for  others.  If  you  hurt  my  innocent  little 
crockery  pots,  how  can  I  ever  forgive  myself?" 

She  thought  she  understood,  and  a  flame  of 
resentment  crossed  her  face.  First,  it  was  "his" 
Ann  Blossom  who  was  to  be  protected  from  her 
cruelty,  now,  undoubtedly,  "his"  Ernest  Cun- 
ningham was  to  be  shielded  from  her  kindness. 

'*  You  never  seem  to  trouble  lest  anyone  might 
hurt  me,"  she  flashed  out. 

"Naturally;  you  are  armoured  by  experience. 
But  Ernest  — " 

"Oh,  I  won't  hurt  him,"  she  interrupted  with 
a  gesture  of  exasperation.  "It  would  bore  me 
too  unmercifully  —  can't  you  understand  that?" 

He  did  not  appear  wholly  convinced,  but  he 
turned  away.  "It  would  be  a  true  kindness  to 
let  Ernest  understand  it,"  he  said  with  a  suppressed 
sigh. 

He  was  usually  in  his  office  at  this  hour,  and, 
as  her  anger  cooled,  Cassandra  watched  and 
listened  for  his  return  with  an  intensity  that  left 
her  fiercely  impatient  of  the  numberless  little 
duties  and  interruptions  of  her  work.  It  had 
come  on  her  more  than  once  of  late,  this  restless 
irritation  at  his  absence.  The  knowledge  that 
he  was  going  serenely  about  his  business,  coming 
hourly  into  close  contact  with  lives  unknown  to 


OPEN    HOUSE 

her,  forgetful,  no  doubt,  of  her  very  existence, 
did  not  make  it  more  bearable,  though  it  forced 
her  to  shut  her  teeth  hard  on  her  own  folly.  She 
might  have  consoled  her  pride  by  treating  him 
coolly  when  he  came  in,  but  a  patient  was  waiting 
and  she  had  no  opportunity. 

Caspar's  patients  were  apt  to  be  given  generous 
sessions,  but  this  one,  a  drooping,  middle-aged 
woman,  had  been  closeted  with  him  an  unusually 
long  time  when  he  opened  the  door  with  a  sum- 
moning, 

"Miss  Joyce  —  please."  He  had  never  before 
called  her  into  the  office,  and  her  heart  sank 
dismally  at  what  might  be  required  of  her;  she 
had  meant  to  recall  that  absurd  offer  in  regard 
to  hooks.  Realizing  that  it  was  now  too  late  for 
spoken  protest,  she  halted  just  within  the  door, 
looking  very  handsome  and  rebellious.  The 
patient  was  slowly  dragging  herself  up  from  the 
couch. 

"I  declare,  I  don't  see  what  made  me  faint," 
she  kept  saying,  with  nervous  sniffs  at  a  bottle 
of  salts.  Her  hat  had  been  removed,  and  her 
hair  fell  in  a  dingy  black  coil  from  the  one  hair- 
pin that  had  stayed  in  place.  She  did  not  look 
at  Cassandra,  and,  if  the  doctor  read  her  attitude, 
he  gave  no  sign  of  it. 

"Miss  Joyce,  will  you  help  Mrs.  Harris;"  he 
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OPEN    HOUSE 

spoke  civilly,  as  employer  to  employee,  not  lift- 
ing his  eyes  from  a  prescription  he  was  writing. 
Her  face  flushed,  and  for  a  perilous  moment  she 
stood  where  she  was ;  then  she  came  slowly  across 
the  room. 

"If  you  will  just  twist  it  up  any  way,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Harris,  who,  fortunately  for  her 
peace  of  mind,  had  no  attention  to  spare  from 
herself.  Cassandra  hated  physical  contact,  she 
hated  this  drooping,  sighing  woman  and  her 
unlovely  hair;  for  the  moment  she  almost  hated 
Caspar.  Her  whole  physique  was  insolently 
expressive  of  repugnance  as  she  silently  did  what 
was  expected  of  her. 

"Now  if  you  will  give  me  my  hat  and  gloves," 
sighed  the  unconscious  Mrs.  Harris.  "I  declare, 
I  don't  know  what  made  me  faint." 

Cassandra  complied  and  stalked  out  of  the 
room.  Caspar,  after  closing  the  door  on  his 
patient,  stood  with  one  hand  clasping  the  back  of 
his  neck,  shaken  with  silent  laughter.  She  had 
looked  so  naughty,  this  big,  handsome  girl!  And 
how  she  had  hated  it!  His  eyes  were  compas- 
sionate, even  though  he  laughed. 

"Oh,  she'll  learn,  she'll  learn,"  he  assured 
himself.  He  did  not  mean  to  put  her  to  another 
such  test  that  day;  yet,  when  a  patient  presently 
gave  a  second  opportunity,  it  seemed  well  to  let 


OPEN    HOUSE 

her  know  that  her  attitude  had  not  been  unob- 
served. The  face  he  showed  at  the  open  door 
was  entirely  businesslike. 

"Oh,  Miss  Joyce  —  I  need  a  little  help,"  he 
said  pleasantly.  "Will  you  kindly  send  Ann 
Blossom  here?" 

He  could  not  know  how  hard  he  struck.  She 
had  been  strung  to  resist  a  second  appeal,  but 
she  was  wholly  unready  for  this  unreproachful 
reproach,  this  patient  turning  to  the  ever-willing 
Ann  Blossom.  A  revealing  glimpse  of  what 
Ann's  selflessness  meant  to  others  brought  a 
moment  of  poignant  humility,  taking  her,  step 
by  step,  as  far  as  the  office  door,  but  there  the 
flaming  sword  of  pride  stopped  her.  Turning 
swiftly  away,  she  went  up-stairs  in  the  direction 
of  Ann's  singing. 

The  open  door  of  her  own  room,  as  she  re- 
turned, showed  a  peaceful  scene:  Villum  in  bed 
and  Flippy  in  a  big  chair  were  both  asleep.  She 
stole  in  and  sat  down  by  the  boy,  burying  her  hot 
face  in  the  pillow. 

"You  are  the  only  person  who  cares  whether 
I  live  or  die,  Villum,  and  it's  no  wonder,"  she 
said  sadly.  "You  won't  when  you  know  a  little 
more."  It  was  a  remarkable  speech  from  Cas- 
sandra Joyce;  as  remarkable  as  the  tears  on  her 
eyelashes. 

138 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Caspar  had  gone  out  before  she  went  down- 
stairs, and  she  scarcely  saw  him  again  that  day. 
He  was  back  for  dinner,  but  had  little  time  to 
eat  it;  he  made  time,  however,  to  take  Villum's 
temperature  and  to  pay  a  brief  visit  to  Miss  Snell, 
who  had  again  retreated  to  her  room.  On  the 
way  out,  he  stopped  by  Cassandra,  and  there 
was  in  his  eyes  a  lurking  glimmer  that  made  her 
feel  both  resentful  and  suddenly  light-hearted. 

"Villum's  cold  won't  amount  to  anything  — 
he  has  the  constitution  of  an  ox;  but  he  may  be 
restless  to-night,"  he  began.  "  Suppose  you  have 
his  bed  put  into  your  room;  I  don't  want  Ann 
Blossom  to  lose  any  sleep." 

"While  it  doesn't  matter  about  me?"  The 
light-heartedness  was  getting  the  upper  hand. 

"While  it  doesn't  matter  about  you.  I  think 
your  Villum  will  prefer  it." 

"How  about  Flippy?" 

"Oh,  she  is  convinced  now  of  our  good  faith. 
You  won't  have  any  trouble  with  her,"  he  said 
comfortably,  and  drove  away,  taking  Ernest  with 
him. 

Flippy  did  object  to  having  her  Florizel  sleep 
so  far  from  her,  but  when  she  understood  that  it 
was  by  the  doctor's  orders  she  submitted,  or 
appeared  to.  After  he  had  been  tucked  up  for 
the  night,  she  came  into  the  living-room  where 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

the  two  girls  were  sitting  at  an  ungenial  distance 
from  each  other,  each  with  a  book.  Her  eyes 
were  restlessly  bright. 

"My  baby  is  asleep,"  she  whispered  with 
cautioning  pantomime.  "Let's  go  out  on  the 
verandah  where  we  won't  disturb  him."  Ann 
rose  at  once,  but  she  would  not  be  satisfied  until 
Cassandra  had  put  down  her  book  and  followed. 
Neither  paid  much  attention  to  her  rapid  chatter, 
but  she  seemed  content  merely  to  have  them  with 
her  as  she  flitted  about  the  paths  in  the  mellow 
light  of  the  full  moon.  When  she  had  established 
them  on  a  garden  bench,  she  suddenly  started 
up,  a  finger  lifted  for  silence. 

"I  thought  I  heard  my  baby,"  she  exclaimed, 
and  flew  off  to  the  house.  Ann  smiled  rather 
timidly  at  her  companion,  whose  abstracted  grav- 
ity made  her  seem  forbidding. 

"I  will  stay  with  her,  if  you  want  to  go  back 
to  your  book,"  she  offered.  Cassandra  refused 
with  an  impatient  motion  of  her  head. 

"My  book  is  as  stupid  as  everything  else,"  she 
added. 

"Ah,  if  you  only  knew  how  really  nice  it  is 
here!" 

"I  dare  say!"  Cassandra  dropped  her  fore- 
head into  her  hands  and  returned  to  her  own 
thoughts. 

140 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"You  know,  we  really  could  give  a  tea  for 
you,"  Ann  ventured  presently.  "Dr.  Diman 
knows  everybody,  and  I'm  sure  he  would  do  it. 
He  really  likes  social  things  when  he  can  make 
time  for  them." 

Cassandra  laughed,  not  unkindly.  "'To  meet 
my  hired  assistant,  Miss  Joyce,'"  she  commented. 
"No;  teas  are  no  remedy  for  my  trouble. 
But  thank  you  just  the  same."  The  silence  this 
time  lasted  until  Flippy  came  back.  Neither 
noticed  how  long  she  had  been  gone. 

"He  is  sound  asleep,  my  little  boy,"  she  an- 
nounced, swaying  back  and  forth  in  front  of 
them  with  lifted  skirts  and  little  dancing  motions. 
"I  think  his  old  Flippy  will  go  to  bed,  too;  she 
is  nearly  asleep  herself."  She  put  both  hands 
over  an  exaggerated  yawn,  her  bright  little  eyes 
darting  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Shall  I  come  and  make  you  comfortable?" 
Ann  rose  as  she  spoke,  but  was  hurriedly  pressed 
down  again. 

"No,  no;  there  mustn't  be  any  noise.  'Good 
night,  sleep  tight,  don't  let  the — "  She  van- 
ished with  a  soft  chuckle. 

The  girls  soon  followed,  and  Ann,  feeling  that 
Cassandra  would  rather  be  alone,  went  up  early 
to  her  own  room.  An  hour  later,  as  she  was 
beginning  to  prepare  for  bed,  a  low  knock  sum- 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

moned  her  to  the  door.  Cassandra,  looking 
startled,  beckoned  her  away  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Flippy 's  room. 

"Villum  is  not  in  his  bed,"  she  whispered. 

Ann  was  startled,  too,  then  laughed  reassur- 
ingly. 

"  Of  course  she  has  got  him  in  with  her.  That 
is  why  she  decoyed  us  into  the  garden."  They 
stole  back  and  cautiously  opened  Mrs.  Thorn- 
dyke's  door.  It  was  the  only  small  room  in  that 
huge  house,  and  Ann's  light,  shining  in,  lighted 
it  even  to  the  depths  of  the  closet;  but  no  Villum 
was  revealed.  The  narrow  bed  showed  only  the 
small  mound  made  by  the  sleeping  Flippy.  After 
a  long  look,  they  closed  the  door  in  puzzled  silence. 

"Perhaps  he  has  walked  in  his  sleep  —  or  she 
has  hidden  him  somewhere,"  Ann  suggested. 
"Did  you  search  your  room?" 

"No;  I  didn't  think  of  it." 

They  went  back  hopefully  and  investigated 
every  corner  of  the  big  southeast  chamber.  Vil- 
lum's  bed  still  showed  the  impression  of  his 
little  body  and  his  garments  hung  in  the  closet 
where  they  had  been  put  that  morning,  but  there 
was  no  trace  of  him  there  or  in  any  of  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms.  With  growing  alarm  they  searched 
all  the  empty  chambers,  then  came  back  once 
more  to  the  small  room  next  to  Ann's. 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

"He  must  be  here,"  they  whispered,  and  again 
pushed  open  the  door.  The  light  revealed  Flippy 
still  in  the  same  posture  of  deep  sleep  and  the 
room,  at  first  glance,  as  empty  as  ever.  Then 
Cassandra's  hand  closed  sharply  on  Ann's  and 
she  gave  a  quick  jerk  of  her  head  towards  the 
bedside.  The  counterpane  fell  almost  to  the 
floor,  but  just  under  its  edge,  near  the  head,  they 
could  see  three  little  fingers. 

They  were  horribly  still,  those  little  fingers; 
and  Flippy's  sleep  seemed  all  at  once  to  have 
taken  on  a  watchful  rigidity.  Seeing  that  Ann 
had  turned  ghastly  white,  Cassandra  closed  the 
door  again  and  put  her  into  the  nearest  chair. 
Her  own  shaking  knees  forced  her  down  on  the 
bed. 

"She  has  put  him  to  sleep  there,"  Ann  stam- 
mered, her  thin  hands  clinging  to  each  other. 

"Oh,  yes;  he's  asleep;"  Cassandra  agreed 
with  an  unmistakable  gasp.  "We  must  get  him 
away." 

"If  Dr.  Diman  were  only  here,"  Ann  moaned. 
"Miss  Myrtle  wouldn't  be  any  use." 

"No;  but  Hattie  might." 

"It  is  her  evening  out.  She's  never  back  till 
late.  You  didn't  see  the  fingers  move  at  all, 
did  you?" 

"No.  And  she  isn't  asleep,  I  am  sure.  She 
143 


OPEN    HOUSE 

is  watching."  They  turned  pale,  listening  faces 
towards  the  closed  door,  but  within  there  was  no 
sound.  Cassandra  took  herself  in  hand.  "We 
can't  let  him  sleep  there,  with  his  cold,"  she 
announced  firmly.  "Suppose  we  were  to  cry 
fire,  and  so  get  her  out  of  her  room  long  enough 
to  —  to  take  him?" 

Ann  shook  her  head.  "That  would  be  cheat- 
ing her.  It  is  just  because  she  has  been  treated 
that  way  so  often  that  she  won't  trust  us  now." 

"Then  what  can  we  do?" 

Ann  thought  a  moment,  then  rose  tremblingly. 
"I'll  try,  if  you  will  stay  near  me,"  she  whispered. 
Cassandra  nodded,  and  was  surprised  at  the 
girl's  sudden  courage  as  she  boldly  threw  open  the 
door. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Thorndyke!"  she  called,  her  voice 
troubled  but  steady.  "I  hate  to  disturb  you, 
but  we  have  lost  little  Villum,  and  we  are  so 
frightened."  Flippy's  eyes  remained  tightly  shut, 
though  her  hands  moved.  "Can't  you  help  us 
find  him?"  Ann  begged.  "It  will  be  so  bad  for 
his  poor  cold,  and  we're  so  frightened  and  un- 
happy." She  ended  with  a  wholly  genuine  sob. 
Flippy's  eyes,  bright  with  mischief,  suddenly 
opened  on  them;  two  little  claws  shot  out  and 
caught  at  the  counterpane. 

"Peek-a-boo!"  she   cried,  and  lifted  it   on  a 
144 


OPEN    HOUSE 

peaceful,  deep-breathing  Villum,  banked  with 
cushions  and  rolled  like  an  Eskimo  in  rugs. 

"Oh,  Flippy,  how  could  you!"  Ann  cried,  drop- 
ping on  her  knees,  the  tears  still  running  down 
her  cheeks.  Flippy  pouted. 

"I  don't  see  the  harm.  You  said  I  could  have 
him,"  she  added  defiantly  at  Cassandra. 

"Haven't  you  had  him  all  day?"  was  the 
reproachful  answer.  "And  you  were  promised 
him  all  to-morrow.  It  was  not  kind."  Flippy 
affected  to  whimper. 

"I  made  him  perfectly  comfortable,"  she  com- 
plained. 

"But  it  was  not  doing  what  Dr.  Diman  said," 
interposed  Ann.  "You  must  put  on  your  wrap- 
per and  help  us  take  him  back  to  bed."  Some- 
what to  their  surprise,  Flippy  yielded,  following 
meekly  beside  Cassandra,  who  had  lifted  the  boy 
without  arousing  him.  They  let  her  help  to 
settle  him  in  his  bed,  and  then  Ann,  with  one  of 
her  sympathetic  inspirations,  suggested  that  she 
take  Villum's  little  shoes  back  with  her.  Flippy 
was  charmed  with  the  idea,  and  returned  to  put 
them  under  her  pillow. 

"Now  he  can't  get  out  of  the  house,"  she  re- 
joiced. "Though  I  really  don't  think  you  people 
would  cheat  me,"  she  added  wistfully;  "not  the 
way  the  others  have." 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"We  truly  won't,"  Ann  promised,  closing  the 
door  on  her  with  a  sigh  of  weariness  and  relief. 

Villum,  sound  sleep,  showed  tightly  screwed 
eyelids  with  yellow  lashes  appealingly  upcurled, 
and  a  duckling  babyishness  of  outline.  Before 
putting  out  her  light,  Cassandra  leaned  on  one 
elbow  to  look  down  at  him.  It  was  surprisingly 
pleasant  to  have  him  there.  The  defenceless- 
ness  of  him  —  the  helpless,  rounded  chin  and 
curled  hands  —  combined  with  the  evening's 
fright  to  stir  new  and  unsuspected  depths  of 
feeling.  She  bent  nearer  to  him,  one  arm  across 
his  body,  her  eyes  darkened  with  an  emotion 
that  was  half  warmth,  half  pain.  Then  she 
turned  away  with  a  shrug  and  put  out  the  light. 

"They  are  nice,"  she  admitted  casually,  as 
though  someone  had  caught  her. 

Hours  later,  in  the  deepest  darkness  of  the 
night,  she  was  startled  out  of  sleep  by  a  sense  of 
something  moving.  She  shot  out  a  frightened 
hand,  and  encountered  the  soft  curve  of  a  babyish 
cheek.  A  little  body,  clambering  blindly  in  the 
dark,  found  her  and  curled  up  against  her  with 
a  long  breath  of  content.  For  an  instant  she 
lay  rigid,  all  her  imperious  dread  of  contact 
aroused.  Then,  as  a  little  hand  curled  into  her 
neck,  the  restraint  vanished.  Her  arms  went  out 
to  him  and  she  drew  him  close,  all  the  soft  length 

146 


OPEN    HOUSE 

of  him,  pressing  her  lips  against  his  hair  and 
forehead.    Tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  one  does  want  them!"  she  cried  to  her- 
self, frightened  at  the  sudden  revelation,  but 
wonderfully  glad. 

The  morning  brought  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles 
Thorndyke  —  for  Carlo's  wife  came  with  him. 
The  two  suggested  irresistibly  a  large,  ornamen- 
tal float,  heading  a  procession,  and  its  little,  dark- 
browed,  practical  steam  attendant.  After  five 
minutes  of  Carlo's  decorative  passivity,  Caspar, 
who  had  met  them  in  the  city,  settled  down  com- 
fortably to  Mrs.  Carlo,  greatly  encouraged  by 
her  power  of  active  listening.  Her  husband  made 
occasional  comments  to  show  that  he  understood, 
but  seemed  equally  interested  in  trying  to  see  the 
twisted  point  of  his  florid  moustache;  her  busy- 
minded  silence  was  far  more  convincing.  When 
they  left  the  train  she  brought  out  her  con- 
clusion : 

"We'll  just  have  to  take  her  home  with  us. 
I've  been  telling  Carlo  for  two  years  that  some- 
one ought  to  look  out  for  her,"  she  added. 

"I  am  afraid  Flippy  will  be  bored  in  Omaha," 
Carlo  observed  resignedly. 

"I  guess  you're  more  afraid  you'll  be,"  was 
the  matter-of-fact  response.  Her  tone  showed 

147 


OPEN    HOUSE 

neither  resentment  nor  humour,  and  he  answered 
as  dispassionately. 

"Well,  perhaps." 

"You  must  take  her  quickly,  so  that  the  excite- 
ment will  carry  her  over  the  separation  from  the 
little  boy,"  Caspar  suggested.  "That  is  why  I 
have  not  told  her  you  were  coming:  I  wanted  the 
full  effect  of  it  to  divert  her." 

Mrs.  Carlo  considered.  "Is  he  a  nice  little 
boy?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Very  lovable." 

"Orphan,  you  say."  And  she  once  more  re- 
lapsed into  thought. 

Mrs.  Thorndyke  and  Villum  sat  on  the  floor 
of  the  verandah,  playing  jackstones.  Caspar 
drove  quickly  past  with  his  guests,  returning 
alone. 

"Flippy,  whom  would  you  like  best  to  see  in 
all  the  world?"  he  began.  She  glanced  be- 
wilderedly  from  him  to  Villum. 

"  My  baby  is  right  here,"  she  explained. 

"But  you  once  had  other  babies,  who  are  grown 
men  now.  What  if  Carlo  came?" 

She  sprang  up.  "Oh,  do  you  think  he  will?" 
she  cried.  "My  boys  can't  come  often,  but  they 
do  love  their  Flippy,  truly.  They  never  forget 
me!" 

"Of  course  not.  And  Carlo  has  come  all  the 
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OPEN    HOUSE 

way  from  Omaha  to  see  you,"  he  added,  as  slips 
sounded  on  the  gravel. 

Carlo  had  stopped  short,  staring  at  the  elab- 
orately youthful  figure,  the  withered  little  old 
face,  with  something  nearer  to  an  expression 
than  Caspar  had  yet  seen.  For  a  moment  he 
was  passive  under  his  mother's  passionate  em- 
brace ;  then  his  arms  took  her  quite  off  the  ground. 

"Why,  you  poor  little  old  Flip!"  he  muttered. 

Mrs.  Carlo,  after  a  composed  glance  at  her 
mother-in-law,  had  turned  her  business-like  at- 
tention on  Villum.  Out  of  the  innocence  of  his 
friendly  heart,  with  no  faintest  intuition  that  his 
whole  future  was  at  stake,  he  offered  a  tentative 
smile  to  this  new  lady.  She  returned  it  gener- 
ously, then  gave  Caspar  a  decisive  nod. 

"He's  real  cute,"  she  said  affirmatively.  Cas- 
par read  her  idea,  and  responded  warmly. 

"You  couldn't  find  a  dearer  little  boy,"  he 
said,  "if  that  is  what  you  want." 

"It's  what  I  want;  and  Carlo  never  objects 
to  anything.  He's  too  lazy,"  was  the  tranquil 
answer,  as  she  turned  to  greet  Mrs.  Thorndyke. 
Her  "Well,  mother,"  was  kindly,  if  unemotional. 
Cassandra's  mistake  was,  after  all,  bearing  good 
fruit. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  when  the  Thorn- 
dykes  went  West  again,  a  placid  little  blond  boy, 

149 


OPEN    HOUSE 

as  well  as  an  erratic  mother,  went  with  them. 
Villum  took  the  separation  from  Cassandra 
calmly  this  time;  no  doubt  he  supposed  that  he 
might  any  day  wake  up  to  find  himself  in  her 
bed.  It  was  she  who  felt  an  unconfessed  but 
dragging  weight  of  loneliness. 


150 


VI 

SEVERAL  hard,  bright,  uninviting  days  had 
swept  by  on  a  high  wind,  days  of  glaring  blue 
and  white,  made  doubly  depressing  by  abrupt 
intervals  of  shadow  when  a  cloud  mass  was  spun 
across  the  sun;  charmless  days,  holding  out  no 
temptations  to  dreamers.  Then  the  wind  fell 
away  and  out  of  a  magic  stillness  came  a  morning 
tinted  and  softly  blurred  like  an  opal,  milky 
warm,  odorous  of  earth  and  grass,  a  day  when 
every  breath  seemed  to  draw  in  with  it  some 
miraculous  promise  of  desires  fulfilled. 

Caspar  sat  tipped  back  at  his  desk,  his  morn- 
ing mail  before  him,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  open 
door.  In  the  great  hall  beyond  Cassandra  was 
working  with  a  severe  determination  that  he 
found  rather  touching.  She  could  do  her  work 
remarkably  well  when  she  chose,  having  that 
invaluable  quality  called  "head"  as  well  as 
capable  hands;  and  she  was  evidently  trying  hard, 
this  idyllic  morning.  Her  splendid  young  body 
was  never  crushed  down  into  her  tasks,  as  Ann's 
was;  she  merely  bent  towards  them,  her  gener- 


OPEN    HOUSE 

ous  shoulders  as  easily  straight  as  when  ;he 
walked:  her  head  drooped  so  little  that  her  do\/n- 
cast  eyes  were  nearly  covered  by  their  lids.  She 
had  no  restless,  nervous  movements,  even  when 
most  impatient,  and  now,  except  for  her  swiftly 
moving  hand,  she  sat  with  a  natural  stillness  that 
deepened  the  impression  of  strength.  The  doc- 
tor drew  his  eyes  away  with  an  impulse  to  a 
sigh,  abruptly  quenched,  and  turned  to  his  letters; 
but  the  quality  of  the  morning  was  like  a  sum- 
mons from  the  open  window.  Presently  he  let 
his  pen  drop  and  took  up  his  engagement  pad. 
The  day  showed  nothing  that  could  not  be  put 
off,  and  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  sudden  buoy- 
ancy. 

"I  have  got  to  take  a  holiday,"  he  declared. 
Cassandra  looked  up  with  the  derisive,  one-sided 
smile  he  had  learned  to  watch  for. 

"I  never  heard  you  say  that  before!" 

"There  is  something  the  matter;  I  can't  work. 
I  want  to  take  the  next  train  up  to  the  lake  and 
paddle  all  day  in  a  canoe.  What  do  you  say?" 
Her  eyes  fell  again. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't,"  she  said 
dispassionately,  hiding  a  riotous  hope. 

"Ah,  but  I  am  inviting  you." 

"I  accept  with  great  pleasure." 

"That's  good.     I  will  ask  Myrtle  to  put  us  up 


OPEN    HOUSE 

a  lunch.  You  won't  expect  me  to  wear  good 
clothes,  will  you?" 

Some  of  her  secret  joy  slipped  out  disguised 
as  malice.  "I  didn't  know  you  had  any,"  she 
said.  He  laughed,  but  returned  the  attack. 

"Oh,  I  know  you!  You  would  rather  be 
paddled  by  an  escaped  convict  in  outing  flannels 
than  by  an  archangel  in  his  suspenders.  Wouldn  't 
you,  now?" 

"Vastly.  I  shall  look  just  as  handsome  as 
possible,  myself." 

"I  have  no  quarrel  with  that!"  He  glanced 
at  his  watch.  "Can  you  achieve  it  in  twenty 
minutes?" 

"Easily." 

"Very  well,  then.  We  will  take  a  car  —  that 
is  quicker."  He  turned  to  the  door,  then  paused. 
"I  wonder  if  Ann  wouldn't  like  to  come?" 

The  secret  exultation  dropped  with  crashing 
suddenness.  She  had  to  stoop  for  a  stray  bit  of 
paper,  to  hide  the  angry  flame  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  am  afraid  Miss  Blossom  has  gone  up  to 
town,"  she  said  coolly.  "Perhaps  you  can  catch 
her  at  the  station  if  you  hurry." 

"Oh,  no.  She  will  have  a  better  time  buying 
shoestrings  and  exchanging  pearl  buttons."  He 
smiled  indulgently.  "Ann  isn't  any  too  keen 
on  little  boats,  anyway."  And  he  went  off  hum- 


OPEN    HOUSE 

ming  to  make  his  preparations.  Cassandra  looked 
after  him  with  a  hot  sigh  of  exasperation;  then 
she  forgave  him  and  ran  up-stairs. 

The  exhilaration  came  back  as  she  dressed. 
She  tried  to  scoff  at  herself  for  being  so  happy  - 
"like  a  tenement  child  with  a  day  in  the  coun- 
try!" -but  her  satire  ended  in  a  laugh  as  she 
pinned  on  a  big  white  hat  and  caught  up  her 
gloves.  She  found  Caspar  cutting  sandwiches 
while  Miss  Myrtle  hunted  wildly  for.  the  bread 
knife  and  lamented  that  there  was  not  time  to  do 
it  properly.  They  had  the  basket  packed  by 
the  time  the  knife  was  found,  and  hurried  away 
unfeelingly  from  her  prophecies  of  rain. 

"Though  it  may,"  Caspar  admitted,  and 
turned  back  from  the  gate  for  an  umbrella. 
When  he  reappeared,  some  new  idea  had  sobered 
his  step. 

"See  here,"  he  began,  "there's  Miss  Snell 
sitting  all  alone  in  the  garden,  with  no  Ann  to 
cheer  her.  Suppose  we  ask  her  to  ride  up  on 
the  train  with  us?  The  excursion  will  do  her 
good,  and  she  can  come  right  back  on  the  same 
train:  she  wouldn't  be  equal  to  boating.  What 
do  you  say?" 

"Oh,  certainly  —  that  will  be  enchanting!" 
Cassandra  spoke  with  hollow  geniality.  "And  I 
will  run  round  to  the  orphan  asylum  and  gather 


OPEN    HOUSE 

half  a  dozen  children;  they  will  add  enormously. 
And  couldn't  we  stop  at  the  Old  Ladies'  Home 
for  a  few — " 

"Oh,  come!"  He  walked  on  impatiently. 
"I  was  not  proposing  it  for  my  pleasure,"  he 
deigned  to  explain,  rather  stiffly. 

"Nor  for  mine,  either,  I  suppose,"  she  com- 
mented, as  they  signalled  a  car. 

The  situation  might  have  proved  difficult  but 
for  a  delay  and  the  conductor's  subsequent  doubt 
of  their  making  their  train,  which  furnished  excuse 
for  forgetting  the  momentary  encounter.  Smoth- 
ered railing  at  leisurely  passengers  who  per- 
sisted in  mounting  and  dismounting  brought 
them  in  complete  good  humour  to  the  station 
platform  just  in  time.  Cassandra  paused  on 
the  car  steps  for  a  mischievous  glance  back. 

"We  are  actually  off!"  she  exclaimed  in  exag- 
gerated relief. 

"Oh,  I  thought  we  should  catch  it,"  said  Cas- 
par, not  understanding. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  bring 
that  fat  old  lady  in  the  soiled  red  flannel  blouse. 
And  when  the  lame  boy  with  the  bandaged  head 
got  on  —  well,  I  still  don't  see  how  you  resisted 
him!" 

Personal  attack  always  afforded  Caspar  deep 
enjoyment.  His  laugh  under  it  had  a  startled 


OPEN    HOUSE 

quality  that  was  one  of  her  small  daily  triumphs; 
there  was  an  inexplicable  delight  in  holding  him 
up  to  his  own  surprised  and  amused  gaze. 

"I  suppose  I  look  a  tremendous  crank  to  you," 
he  admitted  as  they  crunched  down  the  cindery 
aisle.  It  was  a  shabby  little  way  train  with  seats 
of  disreputable  red  velvet,  yet  it  had  for  Cassandra 
an  air  subtly  festive.  The  very  smell  of  smoke 
and  dust  was  stimulating.  She  took  her  seat 
with  a  happy  sense  of  possession;  not  even  a 
telephone  could  reach  them  now. 

"Well,  Diman!  Of  all  the  luck!  Just  as  I 
was  wishing-  One  of  the  half  dozen  pas- 
sengers had  started  up,  arresting  Caspar  in  the 
aisle.  He  was  evidently  a  physician:  Cassandra 
caught  fragmentary  references  to  a  consultation 
and  "extraordinary  developments"  through  the 
rattle  of  the  train.  The  two  stood  talking  for 
several  minutes  with  growing  absorption,  then 
automatically  moved  into  the  empty  seat  across 
the  aisle.  Ten  minutes  went  by,  and  still  Cas- 
par had  not  spared  so  much  as  a  glance  for  his 
rightful  companion.  He  seemed  to  be  giving 
advice  to  the  younger  man,  who  listened  with 
eager  interest. 

Having  stayed  so  long,  it  was  fortunate  that  he 
stayed  longer,  for  Cassandra's  spirit, was  making 
a  difficult  journey  from  mortification,  through 

156 


OPEN    HOUSE 

hot  wrath  to  a  bewildered  humility.  She  knew 
that  it  was  funny,  this  attempt  to  picnic  with  an 
incorrigible  humanitarian,  but  she  could  not 
laugh  yet.  Out  of  the  final  humility  rose  a 
sickening  suspicion.  She  had  congratulated  him 
on  getting  away  without  attendant  derelicts;  but, 
after  all,  had  he?  What  was  she?  Had  he  not 
asked  her  in  the  same  spirit  of  kindliness  that 
suggested  Miss  Snell? 

"Why  not?  I  am  nothing  to  him  personally. 
He  is  simply  sorry,"  was  her  abject  conclusion 
as  the  trip  came  to  an  end. 

"You  could  not  go  with  me,  of  course,"  said 
the  younger  man;  and  Cassandra  had  reached 
so  low  a  point  that  she  was  breathlessly  grateful 
for  Caspar's  prompt, 

"I  am  afraid  not.  Let  me  know  how  it  comes 
out,"  he  added,  gathering  up  basket  and  um- 
brella. "Here  we  are,  Miss  Joyce." 

The  lake  lay  before  them  in  enchanted  still- 
ness, opal  blue,  with  misty  edges.  Cassandra 
took  her  place  on  the  cushions  in  passive  silence, 
while  Caspar  threw  off  coat  and  hat  and  broke  the 
mirroring  surface  with  a  long  stroke  of  the  paddle. 
The  canoe  shot  away  from  the  landing  and  for 
several  minutes  there  was  no  sound  but  the  drip  of 
water.  Then  the  paddle  stopped  and  Cassandra, 
glancing  up,  met  a  look  of  friendly  inquiry. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Well?"  he  queried.    She  tried  to  smile. 

"Well?"  she  returned. 

"Why  aren't  you  as  happy  as  I  am?" 

Her  impulse  to  honest  speech  could  never  long 
be  kept  under.  "I  think  I  was  feeling  a  little 
lonely,"  she  admitted.  He  looked  disconcerted. 

"I  don't  care  for  that!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  not  now  —  but  on  the  train." 

"Oh!  That  was  rather  rude  of  me;"  with 
surprised  contrition;  "but  Barker  had  such  a 
confoundedly  interesting  case  on  — ' 

"It  wasn't  that  it  was  rude,"  she  interrupted. 
"What  hurt  was  that  it  was  middle-aged." 

"Middle-aged!"  She  had  obviously  hit  there. 
"Girl,  do  you  know  how  old  I  am?" 

"What  does  it  matter?  To  take  a  pretty  lady 
out  for  the  day,"  she  smiled  faint  apology  for  the 
phrase,  "and  then  desert  her  at  the  first  chance 
-  that  is  middle-aged.  And  I  am  young,  you 
see.  So  it  made  you  seem  —  oh,  rather  remote, 
that  is  all." 

She  felt  a  pang  of  compunction  when  she  saw 
how  his  face  had  clouded,  but  she  told  herself 
hotly  that  it  was  right,  that  he  ought  to  under- 
stand. After  a  difficult  silence,  he  spoke  with 
obvious  effort. 

"The  curious  thing  is  that  I  was  not  —  remote 
at  all.  I  was  conscious  of  you  every  moment: 

158 


you  were  a  pleasant  fact  right  there  that  I  could 
turn  to  the  instant  business  was  done.  I  was  so 
thoroughly  —  with  you,  it  never  occurred  to  me 
that  you  would  not  know  it." 

"Now  you  make  me  ashamed." 

"Well,  I  think  you  should  be." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  so  dreadful  to  feel  oneself  a  dere- 
lict, a  case,"  she  burst  out.  "You  see,  I  have 
always  gone  to  things  in  the  character  of  a  proud 
beauty  —  and  in  my  world  that  meant  impor- 
tance." 

"Even  in  mine  it  has  its  place,"  he  said  dryly. 
She  went  on  without  heeding  him. 

"And  then  to  feel  suddenly  that  you  are  taken 
somewhere  out  of  kindness,  to  give  you  an  outing 
and  a  good  time:  that  your  presence  isn't  a  fa- 
vour to  others,  but  a  piece  of  good  luck  for  you  - 
can't  you  see  how  that  would  hurt  ?  —  if  you  were 
horrid  and  spoiled,  like  me?" 

He  laughed  out  at  the  earnestness  of  the  final 
appeal. 

"It  needn't,"  he  assured  her.  "I  solemnly 
promise  that  I  will  never  take  you  anywhere  out 
of  benevolence.  I  certainly  had  no  such  idea  in 
asking  you  to-day." 

"Then  it  is  all  right,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand.  "Isn't  it?"  she  added,  as  though  she 
felt  some  lack  of  response  in  his  ready  clasp. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Yes  —  for  this  time;"  his  fingers  tightened 
before  they  released  hers.  "But  you  proud 
beauties  have  so  many  ways  of  being  hurt.  I 
shall  wound  you  again  and  again,  never  mean- 
ing to,  never  knowing  it  unless  you  tell  me." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  rather  apt  to  let  you  know," 
she  said  cheerfully,  and  the  shadow  passed,  leav- 
ing them  on  a  new  footing  of  intimacy  and  under- 
standing. 

"Middle-aged!"  He  went  back  to  it  with 
humorous  resentment.  "That  was  a  nice  word 
to  hand  a  man  who  is  barely  forty!"  She  looked 
him  over  with  eyes  that  missed  nothing  of  his 
muscular  vigour,  his  alert  poise  on  the  little  seat, 
the  vitality  that  underlay  the  sunny  warmth  of 
his  contented  eyes;  but  she  would  not  take  it 
back. 

"You  are,"  she  insisted.  It  was  a  challenge, 
and  he  met  it  squarely. 

"Some  day  I  may  show  you  that  I  am  not." 
There  was  an  unexpected  significance  in  his  voice 
that  set  her  nerves  vibrating,  but  she  held  bravely 
to  her  attack  and  the  note  of  amusement. 

"You  would  have  to  do  something  very  rash, 
very  selfish  and  unwise,  to  convince  me,"  she 
warned  him. 

"Something  that  middle  age  might  consider 
rash,  selfish,  and  unwise,"  he  corrected  her  with 


OPEN    HOUSE 

a  deepening  smile  that  inexplicably  brought  a 
flush  to  her  cheeks.  "Youth  is  always  right  from 
its  own  point  of  view.  Well,  I  may  yet,  Cassandra 
Joyce!"  And  he  threw  back  his  head  with  a 
laugh  so  boyishly  mischievous  that  she  started 
up  in  intolerable  confusion. 

"I  want  to  paddle,"  she  announced  abruptly. 
He  would  not  let  her  change  her  seat  until  he  had 
brought  them  close  to  the  bank. 

"Young  as  I  am,  I  am  not  rash  about  canoes," 
he  assured  her,  and  kept  a  steadying  hand  on  a 
low  branch  while  she  moved  into  the  bow. 

With  two  paddles,  the  boat  was  presently  going 
at  a  new  pace.  They  had  left  the  drowsy  green 
shores,  and  were  cutting  a  furrow  down  a  pale 
expanse  so  glassily  still  that  they  almost  looked 
to  see  it  splinter  against  the  sharp  bow.  To  Cas- 
sandra it  was  a  race  between  them,  a  boastful 
endurance  race.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  straight 
ahead,  gravely  steady,  her  mouth  was  smileless; 
only  the  exultant  plunge  of  her  bared  arm  showed 
her  excitement.  The  minutes  swung  by,  fifteen, 
twenty  of  them,  but  there  was  no  relaxing  of  the 
hot  pace.  She  would  have  kept  it  up  till  she  fell, 
but  at  last  Caspar  cried  out  for  quarter,  letting 
his  paddle  drop.  She  turned  a  flushed,  trium- 
phant face  back  at  him. 

"Oh,  tenderfoot!" 

161 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Not  at  all.  I  could  have  gone  on  indefi- 
nitely if  it  had  been  necessary.  But  why  broil 
ourselves  for  no  purpose?" 

She  dipped  her  hand  reflectively  into  the 
water.  "Perhaps,  at  your  age,  it  is  better  not," 
she  assented. 

He  met  it  gravely  this  time. 

"Did  I  seem  elderly  to  you  when  I  first  met 
you  at  Miss  Joyce's?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  I  don't  know.  You  were  the  doctor 
to  me,  then.  I  had  not  begun  to  think  of  you  as 
a  man  at  all."  He  smiled  to  himself  at  the  im- 
plied admission. 

"What  a  wretched  time  that  was  for  you!" 

"How  did  I  seem  to  you?" 

"Very  brave  and  very  ignorant.  But  I  had 
no  idea  what  a  tight  place  you  were  in.  You 
were  so  well  dressed  and  so  —  cocksure  generally, 
it  didn't  occur  to  me  until  that  day  after  the 
funeral  that  you  might  be  in  money  difficulties.'* 

They  were  drifting  along  the  banks,  and  she 
had  laid  her  paddle  across  her  knees,  half  turn- 
ing her  head  towards  him. 

"What  made  you  think  it  then?" 

"Do  you  remember,  I  happened  to  say  to 
you,  'What  shall  you  do  now?'  'I  don't  know,' 
you  said,  and  it  suddenly  came  to  me  that  you 
were  frightened." 

162 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  can  assure  you,  I  was!" 

"But  why  you  had  hidden  it  so  from  me — ! 
You  tried  to  dodge  me  even  then,  but,  thank 
heaven,  I  never  did  mind  rushing  in." 

"I  have  noticed  that." 

"Better  be  grateful  for  it,  young  woman!  Do 
you  remember  how  I  finally  cornered  you  with, 
'Just  how  much  money  have  you  got  in  the 
world?'" 

"And  I  said,  'Twenty  dollars.'" 

"Yes;  as  coolly  as  if  it  were  twenty  thousand. 
But  your  eyes  filled." 

"That  isn't  the  only  time  you  have  made  me 
cry." 

"Poor  dear!  But  that  was  the  only  time  you 
hated  me  for  it,  wasn't  it?  You  wouldn't  lower 
your  eyes  or  look  away.  You  had  a  mighty 
pride,  Cassandra." 

"Have,"  she  corrected  him. 

"It  isn't  as  bad  as  it  was." 

"I  suppose  I  was  just  'a  case'  to  you,  as  you 
were  just  'the  doctor'  to  me." 

"I  don't  know  —  I  think  you  were  always  more 
than  that  to  me."  His  tone  was  quite  matter-of- 
fact.  "I  wonder  if  it  isn't  lunch  time?" 

They  made  the  joyful  discovery  that  it  was  long 

past  lunch  time,  and  headed  for  a  hidden  cove 

vhere  Caspar  remembered  a  spring  of  pure  water, 

163 


OPEN    HOUSE 

as  well  as  a  sandy  beach  and  a  pine  grove.  So 
effectually  was  it  hidden  from  the  lake  that  they 
were  well  inside  before  they  discovered  that  a 
picnic  party  of  four  already  held  possession. 
Before  they  could  sheer  off  again,  an  excited 
voice  had  hailed  them.  A  stout  little  middle- 
aged  woman  in  an  ancient  pink  silk  blouse  and 
a  still  older  blue  serge  skirt  had  run  down  tp 
the  water's  edge,  signalling  violently  with  a  ginger 
beer  bottle. 

"Dr.  Diman!"  she  cried.  At  the  name  three 
young  girls  started  up,  dropping  plates  and  cups. 

"Dr.  Diman!"  they  repeated  in  ecstatic  wel- 
come. 

With  a  startled,  "Upon  my  word!"  Caspar 
beached  the  canoe  and  stepped  past  Cassandra 
to  let  his  hands  be  taken  by  as  many  claimants 
as  could  get  possession. 

"Mrs.  Honeywell!"  His  welcome  was  as 
hearty  as  theirs.  "And  I  was  wondering  about 
you  only  yesterday.  What  luck!" 

"My  goodness  gracious!  To  go  on  a  picnic 
and  find  you!"  she  marvelled.  She  had  a  high, 
metallic  voice  that  sawed  on  sensitive  eardrums, 
but  her  face,  round  and  innocently  rosy  under 
a  wispy  attempt  at  a  pompadour,  was  all  warmth 
and  softness. 

"It  is  the  first  I  have  had  since  you  left  us. 
164 


OPEN    HOUSE 

How  are  you?    Why  haven't  you  sent  me  a  line 
now  and  then?" 

"Too  well  —  nothing  to  say,"  she  laughed; 
then  took  his  hands  again,  her  face  sobering. 
"But  I  remember,  every  morning  and  every 
night,  who  I  owe  it  to,"  she  added. 

He  was  fairly  shining  down  on  her.  "You  owe 
the  greater  part  of  it  to  yourself,  my  dear  friend! 
It's  splendid  to  see  you  like  this.  Dear  me,  look 
at  these  great  creatures  —  how  they  have  grown!" 

"Whales,  aren't  they,"  assented  their  mother 
proudly.  "We  had  a  horse  and  surrey  lent  us 
for  the  day,  so  off  we  had  to  come.  Of  course 
you  are  going  to  lunch  with  us  —  we  can't  let  you 
go." 

He  turned  back  to  Cassandra,  two  of  the  girls 
clinging  to  his  arms. 

"Miss  Joyce,  you  must  come  and  meet  Mrs. 
Honeywell,"  he  said,  the  pleasure  of  the  encounter 
still  lighting  his  face.  "And  these  are  the  three 
young  Honeywells  —  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry." 

A  burst  of  girlish  laughter  and  an  "Oh,  Dr. 
Diman!"  greeted  this.  Cassandra,  bravely  hid- 
ing her  dismay,  had  left  the  canoe  to  meet  Mrs. 
Honeywell's  impetuous  advance. 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  all  about  Miss  Joyce," 
was  the  disconcerting  greeting.  "Isn't  it  all  too 
perfectly  lovely,  and  just  exactly  like  him?" 

'65 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Cassandra  assented,  bewildered,  but  making  a 
soul- wrenching  effort  at  cordiality;  and  wonder- 
ing in  a  detached  aside  how  so  harsh  a  voice  could 
coexist  with  eyes  of  such  beaming  warmth. 

"You're  in  the  loveliest  hands  God  ever  made," 
Mrs.  Honeywell  went  on  impressively  as  the  girls 
seized  on  Caspar's  attention.  "I  don't  suppose 
you've  heard  about  me,  Miss  Joyce,  but  I  tried 
to  have  melancholia  five  years  ago  —  you  won't 
believe  it  of  a  fat,  jolly-looking  thing  like  me,  but 
I  did  —  and  he  just  wouldn  't  let  me.  I  lived  in 
his  house  all  winter,  with  the  girls  at  the  best 
school  money  could  find  —  his  money,  mind 
you!  And  we  just  think  there's  nobody  like  him 
on  this  earth." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Cassandra,  reluctant 
lips  driven  to  a  smile. 

"He's  so  busy,  I  never  like  to  bother  him,  but 
it 's  perfectly  great,  seeing  him  like  this.  Doctor, 
I'm  telling  Miss  Joyce  that  I  feel  as  if  I'd  had  a 
big,  fat  Christmas  present,  coming  on  you  this 
way.  We've  got  loads  of  sandwiches  — 

"So  have  we,"  interposed  Caspar,  getting  out 
the  basket  as  though  their  staying  was  a  matter 
of  course.  Cassandra  lingered  by  the  canoe 
under  the  pretext  of  pulling  it  farther  up  the 
beach.  She  was  not  angry,  this  time;  only 
grievously,  childishly  disappointed.  All  the 

1 66 


OPEN    HOUSE 

morning  the  prospect  of  their  lunch  hour,  of 
lounging  on  the  warm  ground  in  the  intimacy  of 
the  little  feast,  had  stood  out  as  the  bright  goal 
of  the  day.  They  might  clash  before,  or  even 
after,  but  that  hour  must  surely  be  all  happiness. 
And  now  the  precious  time  had  been  handed 
over  to  a  gushing  woman  and  three  noisy  girls  — 
and  he  was  just  as  content.  He  did  not  even 
notice  that  she  had  stayed  behind.  It  was  at 
that  point  in  her  silent  lament  that  his  voice 
broke  in. 

"Come,  Miss  Joyce,  or  your  sandwiches  will 
get  cold,"  he  called,  rousing  a  chorus  of  giggles. 
He  was  standing  with  a  hand  out  to  pull  her  up 
the  bank,  and  his  eyes  looked  straight  down  into 
hers,  a  look  so  comprehending  and  warm  that 
she  had  to  forgive  it  for  being  also  masterful  and 
merry.  It  offered  no  apology,  but  it  said,  "I 
know!"  and  with  that  she  was  suddenly  soothed 
and  cheered.  She  would  not  admit  that  she  had 
understood,  but  she  took  her  seat  with  a  good 
grace,  and  the  girls,  who  also  knew  her  story, 
found  her  "perfectly  grand."  Nevertheless,  it 
was  a  long  meal  to  her,  and  it  might  have  been 
longer  but  for  a  sudden  darkening  of  the  sun- 
light. Looking  out  from  under  their  pines, 
they  discovered  that  the  misty  edges  of  the  sky 
were  gathering  into  puffy  masses  with  mischief  in 

167 


OPEN    HOUSE 

their  shining  depths.  Miss  Myrtle's  rain  began 
to  look  only  too  plausible.  Mrs.  Honeywell 
longed  to  drive  them  to  the  station,  as  the  surrey 
had  a  top,  and  they  could  all  squeeze  in  as  well 
as  not,  but  Caspar  resisted  with  easy  firmness, 
and  in  a  blessedly  short  time  they  were  seated  in 
the  canoe,  the  three  young  Honeywells  clustered 
to  push  it  off,  and  their  mother  still  pouring  out 
her  voluble  affection  from  the  bank. 

"Well,  I  do  declare,  Doctor,  it's  been  just  the 
loveliest  thing  that  ever  happened!  The  girls 
and  I'll  talk  about  it  for  weeks.  But  if  you  get 
wet  going  back,  I'll  never  forgive  myself,  never. 
Don't  you  think  you'd  better  change  your 
mind  — " 

But  the  canoe  was  already  backing  about.  A 
moment  later,  with  good-bys  and  wavings,  they 
had  slipped  out  into  the  silence  of  the  lake.  Cas- 
par looked  about  the  darkened  horizon,  then 
settled  himself  on  his  seat  with  an  air  of  getting 
down  to  business. 

"Now  we've  got  to  paddle,  my  dear  girl,"  he 
said,  and  the  little  phrase  wiped  out  all  the  weary 
impatience  of  the  past  hour  and  a  half.  Cassandra 
bent  to  her  work  without  answering:  the  boat 
seemed  full  of  a  peace  and  harmony  that  needed 
no  words. 

The  mirror  had  been  broken  by  schools  of  brisk 
168 


OPEN    HOUSE 

ripples  that  presently  leaped  up  into  waves.  The 
two  were  racing  again,  both  together  now  against 
the  coming  thunderstorm.  Once  or  twice,  as 
the  waves  increased  under  the  squally  bursts  of 
wind,  Caspar  called  out,  "Shall  we  land?"  but 
received  a  silent  shake  of  the  head  for  answer. 
For  half  an  hour  they  plunged  through  a  sea  of 
white  caps  that  would  have  meant  disaster  to 
less  steady  hands  and  heads.  Figures  at  the 
boat-house  gathered  to  watch  them,  and  a  row- 
boat  was  got  ready,  but  the  canoe  came  on  so 
strongly  and  fearlessly  that  it  was  not  sent  out. 
Just  as  a  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  first  great 
drops  out  of  the  clouds,  their  paddles  were 
lifted  to  grip  the  landing. 

Cassandra  sprang  out  with  little  help  from  the 
admiring  hands  held  down  to  her. 

"Wasn't  it  splendid,"  she  exclaimed,  as  they 
ran  up  the  steep  bank  to  the  station. 

"You  were  splendid,"  he  echoed.  "I  should 
not  have  dared  to  try  it  with  any  other  woman  I 
know.  But  your  poor  skirt!" 

She  laughed  at  her  drenched  linen.  "We  only 
shipped  three  or  four  waves,  but  of  course  I  got 
them,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Oh,  listen!" 

It  was  impossible  to  do  anything  but  listen  for 
the  next  half  hour:  all  creation  seemed  to  be 
smashing  under  the  great  rolls,  and  the  rain  on 

169 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  roof  was  in  itself  a  lesser  thunder.  Dr.  Di- 
man  paced  about  station  and  platform  with  a 
touch  of  restlessness,  but  Cassandra,  on  the 
hacked  wooden  bench,  was  very  still.  All  day 
she  had  been  longing  to  go  back  to  some  words  of 
the  morning,  to  take  them  out  and  feel  again  the 
thrill  of  their  possible  meaning.  "  Something 
that  middle  age  might  consider  rash,  selfish,  and 
unwise;"  and  then  his  mischievous  laughter. 
What  could  it  have  meant?  And  why  at  that 
moment  had  the  little  boat  seemed  to  possess  veins 
with  running  sap  in  them  —  currents  of  unseen 
life?  "I  may  yet,  Cassandra  Joyce;"  and  then, 
"You  were  always  more  than  that  to  me:" 
the  words  stirred,  warmed,  and  disheartened  her 
in  turn  as  she  sat  staring  into  them.  On  the  train 
going  back  they  still  held  half  her  thoughts. 

At  their  station  they  found  Ann  Blossom  just 
back  from  town  with  her  buttons  and  shoestrings, 
and  waiting  for  the  dwindling  rain  to  cease.  The 
joy  of  her  amazed  welcome  seemed  dispropor- 
tionate to  a  day's  separation;  yet  the  shining  of 
her  happy  face  was  reflected  in  Caspar's. 

"That  is  the  rash,  youthful  thing  —  he  will 
make  love  to  Ann  Blossom,"  thought  Cassandra, 
as  she  followed  them  to  a  carriage.  She  was 
suddenly  conscious  that  she  was  tired,  and  that 
her  skirts  were  wet. 

170 


VII 

CASPAR'S  holiday  was  over  when  they  reached 
the  house.  Important  messages  were  demanding 
answers,  and  an  impatient  motor  was  waiting 
to  whirl  him  away  to  a  consultation.  It  was  eight 
o'clock  before  he  reappeared,  tired  and  hungry. 
The  dinner  had  not  been  of  a  sort  to  warm  up 
happily.  He  looked  dubiously  at  the  plates  Miss 
Myrtle  set  before  him,  then,  for  the  first  time  in 
years,  made  a  protest. 

"Aren't  there  some  chops  or  a  steak  I  could 
have,  Myrtle?  This  isn't  exactly  tempting  — 
and  I'm  dog  tired." 

"Why,  of  course  there  isn't,  Caspar.  We  can't 
keep  things  like  a  hotel.  Besides,  Ronsard  has 
gone  out  and  Hattie  is  washing  up." 

"Oh,  well!"  He  went  at  his  shrivelled  din- 
ner with  a  resignation  that  his  sister  resented. 

"It  is  so  like  a  man,  to  expect  a  house  to  run 
like  a  club,"  she  lamented.  "If  you  had  to  do 
the  housekeeping  for  a  while  — " 

"Very  well,  I  will,"  he  interrupted  with  an 
unexpected  touch  of  irritability.  "I  have  been 
meaning  to  for  some  time.  You  can  go  to  Aunt 

171 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Jennie's  the  first  thing  in  the  morning;  and  I 
will  run  the  house  for  a  week." 

"But,  Caspar—" 

"I  don't  want  to  discuss  it.  I  intend  to  find 
out  if  housekeeping  is  as  overwhelming  a  task  as 
you  women  seem  to  think."  He  was  outwardly 
amiable  again,  but  inflexible.  "Pack  up  this 
evening  and  I  will  send  you  over  right  after 
breakfast." 

"But,  Caspar—" 

"Now,  Myrtle,  you  have  been  bewailing  your 
hard  lot  for  ten  years.  It  is  time  I  took  hold  and 
investigated.  Do  you  know  Aunt  Jennie's  num- 
ber?" He  left  his  dinner  to  telephone,  and  Miss 
Myrtle  went  agitatedly  to  collect  her  belongings. 
For  half  the  night  she  could  be  heard,  mysteri- 
ously occupied  with  the  packing  of  her  bag.  In 
the  morning  she  would  have  devoted  an  hour 
or  two  to  final  orders,  but  her  brother  inter- 
rupted and  firmly  saw  her  off. 

"You'll  have  to  tell  everything  to  Hattie;  that 
Frenchman  is  no  earthly  use,"  was  her  final 
warning,  called  over  the  carriage  wheel. 

Caspar  came  back  with  an  air  of  having  cleared 
the  decks  for  action,  and  sought  his  assistant. 

"I  want  some  advice,"  he  began,  seating  him- 
self on  the  arm  of  the  nearest  chair.  "You  know 
I  am  to  do  the  housekeeping  this  week." 

172 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Shan't  I  do  it  for  you?" 

"No;  I  mean  to  find  out  just  how  hard  it  is  to 
order  three  meals  a  day  and  keep  a  few  people 
comfortable.  I  can't  believe  that  it  need  take 
all  an  able-bodied  person's  time.  Now  don't  you 
think  I  could  give  Hattie  a  written  menu  for  the 
day's  meals  every  morning?  I've  made  one  out 
for  to-day." 

"Of  course.  And  make  her  give  you  a  list  of 
just  what  is  needed." 

"That  is  a  good  idea.  Why,  this  is  going  to  be 
very  easy.  I  prophesy  that  it  won't  take  me  fif- 
teen minutes  a  day."  And  he  strode  off  to  the 
kitchen. 

Hattie  heard  of  the  new  arrangement  in  unre- 
sponsive silence.  Taking  the  carefully  written 
menu  between  thumb  and  forefinger,  she  read  it 
distantly. 

"Miss  Myrtle  always  has  boiled  mutton  for 
Tuesdays,"  was  her  only  comment. 

"Always?    Every  Tuesday?" 

"I  been  here  five  years  and  she  ain't  missed  it 
once." 

"Odd  I  should  not  have  noticed  it!"  Hattie 
obviously  did  not  think  it  odd;  her  expression 
implied  that  that  was  just  what  she  should  have 
expected.  "Do  we  have  regular  things  on  other 
days,  too?" 


OPEN    HOUSE 

" Every  day  but  Saturday;  and  then  it's  always 
chops  or  steak." 

"That  is  very  surprising.  I  don't  care  for  the 
idea  at  all.  Is  there  any  objection  to  having 
chickens  to-night?" 

"  Can't  have  them  Wednesday,  then." 

"But  I  don't  wish  them  Wednesday!"  He 
was  beginning  to  find  Hattie  trying.  "Now  I 
want  you  to  make  a  list  of  everything  the  house 
needs  for  to-day  and  bring  it  to  me  in  fifteen 
minutes.  If  anything  is  forgotten,  it  will  have 
to  go  over  till  to-morrow."  And  he  retreated 
hastily  to  his  office. 

On  the  desk  lay  a  pile  of  rough  notes,  materials 
for  an  address,  to  be  delivered  that  evening,  and 
for  which  his  engagement  pad  allowed  him  only 
the  next  two  out  of  the  coming  eleven  hours.  He 
had  had  just  time  to  become  wholly  immersed  in 
his  subject  when  a  thump  on  the  door  heralded 
Hattie. 

"Ice  man,"  she  announced. 

"What?"    He  looked  up  bewilderedly. 

"Ice  man.  How  much  ice  do  you  want?"  she 
condescended  to  explain. 

"How  much?  Why,  the  usual  quantity,  I 
suppose.  How  much  does  my  sister  order?" 

"According  to  what's  left  in  the  refrigerator." 

"Well,  what  is  left?" 


"Ain't  none  there  at  all." 

"Then  get  enough!  Use  your  intelligence, 
Hattie!" 

"Do  you  mean  one  hundred  pounds  or  fifty?" 
she  asked  unmoved. 

"You'd  better  get  a  hundred,  hadn't  you?" 

"Refrigerator  won't  hold  but  seventy-five." 

"Good  Lord,  woman!  Then  get  seventy- 
five." 

"Seventy-five,  then,"  said  Hattie,  and  stumped 
away. 

"I  begin  to  feel  for  Myrtle,"  Caspar  murmured, 
returning  to  his  address. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  back.  "Garbage 
man,"  she  stated  baldly. 

"Well?"  he  demanded  with  suspended  pen. 

"He's  here." 

"What  of  it?" 

"Ain't  you  going  to  pay  him?    It's  the  day." 

"Oh,  I  see."  He  pulled  out  some  money  with 
suppressed  impatience.  "Have  you  got  that  list 
ready?  I  don't  want  to  be  interrupted  again." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  presently  returned 
with  a  slip  of  paper.  His  lips  twitched  over  the 
spelling. 

"Very  well.  Order  those  things  yourself  when 
the  boy  comes,"  he  said,  returning  the  list.  She 
took  it  reluctantly. 


OPEN   HOUSE 

"You'll  not  see  him  yourself?" 

"  There  is  no  need." 

"Well."  There  was  a  world  of  objection  in 
her  tone,  but  she  gave  no  further  expression  to 
it.  For  half  an  hour  he  wrote  undisturbed;  then 
he  was  rudely  dragged  from  his  happy  absorption 
by  the  announcement, 

"He  says  chickens  is  twenty-eight  cents."  The 
news  had  to  be  repeated  before  it  conveyed  any 
meaning  to  him. 

"Twenty-eight  cents  apiece?"  he  inquired. 
Her  look  was  almost  pitying. 

"Twenty-eight  cents  a  pound." 

"I  see.    Is  that  very  high?" 

"When  they're  over  twenty-five  cents,  Miss 
Myrtle  buys 'fowl  and  has  a  fricasee." 

"Oh,  I  think  twenty-eight  cents  won't  ruin  us;" 
and  he  resumed  his  pen. 

"He's  got  nice  mutton,  if  you'd  like  a  boiled 
leg,"  Hattie  observed. 

"We  will  have  just  what  I  have  ordered,  Hat- 
tie."  His  voice  had  an  edge,  and  she  turned 
stolidly  away,  but  paused  to  add, 

"The  man's  come  to  look  at  the  range.  Will 
you  talk  to  him?" 

"  I  am  too  busy.  If  it  is  out  of  order,  tell  him 
to  fix  it."  And  he  went  to  work  with  a  finality 
that  even  Hattie  had  to  respect.  Nevertheless, 

176 


OPEN    HOUSE 

she  was  back  four  times  in  the  next  hour.  When 
his  most  difficult  passage  was  broken  in  on  to 
find  seven  cents  change  for  the  rags  and  bottles 
man,  he  ran  wild  fingers  into  his  hair  and  went 
desperately  to  Cassandra. 

" It 's  awful ! "  he  burst  forth.  "How  do  women 
stand  it?  I  thought  I  should  teach  Myrtle  a 
lesson,  but  —  great  goodness !  Get  her  back 
this  afternoon,  will  you  —  with  my  humblest 
apologies?  Only  she  ought  to  have  a  rest,  poor 
soul  —  she  has  earned  it." 

She  laughed  at  him,  finding  his  despair  very 
endearing.  "It  need  not  be  half  so  bad  as  it 
is,"  she  explained.  "Miss  Myrtle  has  no  sys- 
tem. Why  don't  you  let  me  do  it  for  you?" 

He  was  sorely  tempted,  but  he  resisted.  "No; 
I  must  straighten  it  out  myself,  and  I  must  prove 
that  it  need  not  be  so  hard,  or  Myrtle  will  bully 
me  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  I'll  manage  some 
way  —  only  I  won't  have  boiled  mutton  for  din- 
ner every  Tuesday." 

"You  shan't,"  she  assured  him  with  an  indul- 
gence that  brought  their  eyes  together. 

"None  the  worse  for  yesterday?"  he  asked. 

"Much  the  better,  thank  you." 

"Shall  we  do  it  again  some  day?" 

She  was  very  glad,  but  she  smiled  mockingly. 
"Two  holidays  in  one  year!  You!" 

177 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  shall  need  two  a  week  if  I  have  many  more 
such  mornings.  How  women  ever  manage  to 
do  anything  else  — " 

"Ice  pick's  broke."  Hattie  launched  the  in- 
formation from  the  doorway  without  even  the 
cough  of  preface  and  apology.  Caspar  turned 
on  her. 

"Hattie,  if  the  house  falls  down,  don't  you  come 
to  me  again  this  morning!  I  have  given  orders 
enough  to  run  a  hotel  —  do  the  best  you  can  and 
leave  me  in  peace!"  And  he  sternly  shut  the 
cloor  of  his  office  on  household  affairs. 

Hattie  retreated  without  comment,  and  was 
not  again  heard  from  until  they  were  summoned 
to  the  luncheon  table.  An  empty  butter  dish 
demanded  explanation. 

" Butter 'n  eggs  man  didn't  come;"  her  de- 
tachment was  perfect. 

"What  does  Miss  Myrtle  do  when  he  doesn't 
come?"  demanded  her  employer. 

"He  always  does  come.  Ain't  never  failed 
before." 

"Are  there  no  grocery  stores  in  this  town?" 

"I  hadn't  any  orders  to  leave  my  work  and  go 
get  it."  Hattie's  tone  was  not  insolent;  merely 
matter-of-fact. 

"A  lunch  with  no  butter — "  began  Miss  Snell 
in  unhappy  protest.  Ann  sprang  up. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Go  slowly, all  of  you,"  she  called  gaily,  and  ran 
out.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  she  was  back  with 
a  fresh  pat,  and  Miss  Snell,  who  had  sat  with  her 
hands  folded  in  exaggerated  patience,  because  one 
could  not  begin  without  butter,  allowed  herself  to 
be  appeased.  But  Caspar's  serenity  was  still  a 
little  clouded  when  they  rose  from  the  table. 

"This  housekeeping  is  a  very  complex  busi- 
ness," he  admitted  to  Cassandra.  "I  don't  sup- 
pose the  girl  could  go  out  and  buy  things  without 
some  authority.  And  yet  to  have  one's  work 
broken  in  on  for  every  delinquent  butterman  - 
I  can't  believe  it's  necessary.  We  must  get  a 
system." 

"We  must,"  Cassandra  admitted,  not  without 
mischief. 

"Well,  what  are  you  jeering  at  now?" 

"I  was  only  thinking  that  you  really  do  look  a 
little  like  Miss  Myrtle.  I  never  noticed  it  before. 
Housekeeping  seems  to  bring  it  out." 

He  laughed,  his  quick,  startled  laugh,  at  the 
jibe  as  he  turned  to  his  waiting  carriage. 

"I  see  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Ann  Blossom  for 
sympathy,"  he  observed.  "I  am  off  now.  I 
think  dinner  is  all  right;  it  ought  to  be." 

"I  am  sympathetic!"  She  called  it  after  him 
with  impulsive  abruptness.  He  smiled  and  nodded 
back  at  her. 

179 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  know!"  he  assured  her. 

Dinner  would  have  been  all  right  but  for  the 
storeroom  keys,  which  Miss  Myrtle  had  handed 
over  to  Caspar  with  earnest  injunctions,  and 
which,  once  in  his  pocket,  had  been  completely 
forgotten.  As  his  written  menu  demanded  in- 
gredients securely  locked  up,  he  found  Ronsard 
in  a  panic  of  nerves  and  Hattie  waiting  for  him  in 
grim  patience  when  he  came  peacefully  home  at 
the  end  of  the  day. 

"Dinner '11  be  an  hour  late,"  Hattie  explained 
in  her  most  "Don't  blame  me"  tone.  Caspar 
handed  over  the  keys  with  apologetic  haste. 

"Quite  right,  Hattie  —  it  was  all  my  fault. 
Never  mind  the  pudding  —  just  tell  Ronsard  to 
get  dinner  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  have  to 
leave  early." 

"Ain't  you  coming  to  give  out  the  stores?" 

"Certainly  not.    Get  what  is  wanted." 

"Miss  Myrtle  won't  like  it." 

"I  can't  help  that."  And  he  cut  short  the  dis- 
cussion by  walking  off.  "Really,  housekeeping 
is  very  hard  on  the  temper,"  he  reflected.  "Six 
days  more  of  it  — !  Whew!" 

Dinner  was  very  late,  and  he  had  to  leave  in 
the  middle  to  deliver  his  address.  When,  an  hour 
later,  he  rose  to  face  his  audience,  buoyantly 
secure,  enjoying  their  welcoming  applause  and 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  power  of  his  own  voice,  Hattie,  seated  at  the 
kitchen  table  with  pen  and  ink,  was  laboriously 
writing  as  follows :  — 

Miss  MYRTLE,  — 

I  promised  to  report,  so  I  do.  Things  is  going  every  whitch 
way.  He  tries,  but  he's  got  no  head  for  it.  He  went  off  with 
the  storeroom  keys  so  the  dinner  was  late.  He  don't  like  to 
be  asd  questions 'and  then  theres  no  butter  for  lunch.  Miss 
Snel  most  had  a  tantrum  about  it.  Several  things  is  broke 
and  ought  to  be  replaced.  The  ice  pik.  The  can  opener.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  Villum  broke  a  little  bowel.  One  of  the 
blue  and  white  mush  ones.  He  don't  give  out  the  stores,  so  I 
have  to  take  whats  wanted.  We  will  do  the  best  we  can. 

Hoping  you  are  enjoying  good  health. 

Yours  respectfully, 

HATTIE. 

This  was  folded  into  one  of  the  stamped  and 
addressed  envelopes  Miss  Myrtle  had  provided, 
and  put  into  the  post.  Then  Hattie  counted  the 
silver  into  the  basket  and  carried  it  up  to  Dr. 
Diman's  room.  He  should  not  shirk  all  his 
responsibilities,  her  manner  of  setting  it  down 
implied. 

Caspar  awoke  the  next  morning  to  a  sense  of 
heavy  care.  His  mind  flew  at  once  to  his  cases, 
but  none  of  them  at  that  moment  was  adequate 
cause  for  the  gloom  that  enveloped  him.  Then 
a  step  in  the  hall  brought  a  mutter  of  enlighten- 
ment: that  confounded  housekeeping! 

The  step  prefaced  a  knock  on  his  door.  It 
181 


OPEN    HOUSE 

seemed  that  no  orders  for  breakfast  had  been 
issued. 

"But,  Hattie,  don't  we  always  have  cereal  and 
eggs  ?"  he  protested  without  rising. 

"Which  cereal?    There's  five  in  the  house." 

"Oh  —  cracked  wheat." 

"Takes  six  hours  to  cook." 

"Well,  then,  any  other.    It  doesn't  matter." 

"Miss  Myrtle  always  had  rolled  oats  on 
Wednesday  —  I  don't  suppose  you'd  want 
that."  Evidently  Hattie  still  cherished  a  griev- 
ance on  the  score  of  Tuesday's  boiled  mutton. 

"Yes,  certainly.    And  poach  the  eggs." 

"You  had  'em  that  way  yesterday." 

"Did  we?  I  don't  see  that  it  matters.  How- 
ever, have  an  omelet. " 

"Well.  The  kitchen  fasset  needs  a  new  washer. 
It's  wastin'  all  the  hot  water." 

"I  will  see  you  about  everything  when  I  come 
down."  His  tone  dismissed  her,  as  she  admitted 
with  a  patient, 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  the  silver  if  I'm  to 
lay  the  table."  He  passed  it  out,  and  closed  the 
door  with  a  sigh. 

"Six days  more!"  he  murmured;  then,  "Poor 
old  Myrtle!" 

After  breakfast  he  reluctantly  sat  down  to 
composing  the  day's  bill  of  fare.  It  seemed  all 

182 


OPEN    HOUSE 

at  once  an  impossibly  distasteful  and  difficult 
business  —  what  did  people  eat,  anyway  ?  He 
could  not  turn  to  Cassandra,  for  she  had  gone  up 
to  town  to  lunch  with  an  old  friend  —  asking  "a 
day  off"  with  sham  meekness  that  was  scarcely 
respectful,  and  that  left  him  smiling  deeply  after 
her.  Ann  had  disappeared,  so  he  had  to  struggle 
with  soups  and  desserts  as  best  he  could.  He 
was  uncomfortably  aware  that  his  menu  had  an 
amateur  quality  when  he  carried  it  out  to  the 
kitchen. 

Ronsard  was  all  welcome  and  beautiful  defer- 
ence. 

"Whatever  monsieur  orders,  if  it  is  within  my 
poor  powers!"  he  declared,  with  a  bow  to  the 
list,  which  his  eyes  were  too  dim  to  read.  Hattie 
wasted  no  time  in  generalities. 

"The  man's  coming  to  fix  the  range,"  she 
announced.  "Do  you  want  to  put  him  off?" 

"Why,  no." 

"You  can't  have  a  hot  lunch,  then.  Did  you 
mean  canned  asparagus?" 

"Certainly  not:  fresh." 

"Well.  It's  been  out  of  season  for  six  weeks, 
that's  all.  And  you  can't  have  prune  pudding 
without  you  soak  the  prunes  over  night." 

Caspar  took  back  the  paper  with  an  exasper- 
ated tightening  of  his  jaw.  Revising  it  to  suit 

'83 


OPEN    HOUSE 

what  the  market  afforded  and  what  Miss  Snell 
would  eat  took  twenty  minutes  of  his  precious 
morning.  When  at  last  he  had  made  his  escape, 
the  man  for  the  range  insisted  on  an  interview 
and  showed  an  irrepressible  tendency  to  relate 
the  entire  history  of  his  twenty  years'  experience  of 
ranges  in  support  of  his  claim  that  a  new  water- 
back  was  needed.  When  it  had  "been  ordered, 
recklessly,  for  the  sake  of  freedom,  a  bare  five 
minutes  of  peace  intervened  before  the  announce- 
ment that  they  hadn't  any  melons  to-day,  and 
would  he  order  something  else.  Then  Miss 
Snell,  hearing  that  the  range  was  disabled,  had  a 
panic  about  her  second  hot  water,  and  had  to  be 
personally  reassured  with  a  spirit  lamp.  And,  ten 
minutes  later,  did  he  want  to  feed  beggars  ?  Miss 
Myrtle  never  did,  but  there  was  one  at  the  back 
door  now,  and  Hattie  thought  she'd  better  ask. 

"Lord,  Lord!"  muttered  Caspar,  starting  to 
his  feet  and  looking  wildly  about  for  his  hat,  "I 
shall  go  raving  mad!  Hattie,  I  am  out.  Do 
what  you  like  with  the  beggar  or  with  — ' 

Wheels  outside  the  glass  door  interrupted. 
Stealing  a  cautious  look,  he  saw  a  stout,  familiar 
form  revolving  down  from  a  hired  carriage. 

"Myrtle!"  he  exclaimed.  She  turned  to  him 
a  face  of  nervous  apology,  but  he  put  his  arms 
about  her  and  kissed  her  with  reassuring  warmth. 

184 


OPEN   HOUSE 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Caspar,"  she  explained 
hurriedly.  "I  didn't  sleep  all  night  —  I  kept 
remembering  things  I  hadn't  seen  to,  like  the 
French  laundry  bill.  I  simply  had  to  come  home. 
Of  course,  I  can  go  back  again  to-night  - 
She  eyed  him  anxiously  as  she  hesitated. 

"Well,  if  it  really  worries  you  to  be  away,  my 
dear!"  Caspar  conceded  heartily.  Her  face 
lighted. 

"Oh,  Caspar,  it  does!  Just  at  this  time,  when 
there  is  so  much  to  see  to.  If  you  don't  really 
mind  —  I  brought  my  bag."  And  she  turned 
back  to  the  carriage  with  happy  haste.  "It  is 
good  of  you,  dear  brother."  He  felt  Hattie's  eye 
on  him  and  it  hampered  his  spontaneity. 

"It's  all  right,  Myrtle.  I  can  try  running  the 
house  some  other  time,  when  I  am  less  rushed." 
This  was  aimed  at  Hattie's  expression,  which  he 
did  not  like.  "I  suppose  I  can  leave  you  in 
charge  now.  Good-by!"  And  he  closed  the 
front  door  after  him  with  a  long,  deep  breath  of 
relief. 

"Well,  I  got  your  letter,  Hattie,"  Miss  Myrtle 
admitted  in  a  lowered  tone  as  the  other  followed 
her  up-stairs  with  her  bag.  "I  just  had  to  come 
after  that." 

"Nobody's  sorry,"  observed  Hattie;  but  she 
stopped  there.  She  was,  in  her  way,  a  good  sort. 

185 


vm 

ERNEST  clearly  was  not  happy.  The  trouble, 
whatever  it  was,  had  come  on  him  suddenly;  Ann 
Blossom  could  have  told  the  day,  and  had  a 
haunting  fear  that  Miss  Joyce  might  know  the 
very  hour.  The  two  had  taken  the  same  train 
to  town,  he  gay,  alert,  looking  back  from  the  gate 
to  wave  his  hat  to  Ann,  and  so  leaving  her  mo- 
mentarily cheered  and  reassured.  Miss  Joyce, 
after  lunching  with  an  old  friend,  had  come  home 
alone;  Ernest  had  not  appeared  until  nearly 
midnight.  Ann  had  —  not  exactly  sat  up  for 
him,  but  stayed  up  very  late  reading,  and  so  she 
was  the  only  person  in  the  big  living-room  when 
the  door  opened  and  Ernest  came  slowly  in  —  a 
changed,  aloof,  unresponsive  Ernest  who  did  not 
want  anything  to  eat,  and  who  went  up-stairs 
without  seeing  her  good-night  hand. 

He  was  more  like  himself  at  breakfast,  but  the 
withdrawal  was  unmistakable.  She  gave  him  a 
chance  for  a  walk  with  her,  and  he  made  an  un- 
convincing excuse.  Miss  Joyce  greeted  him  just 
as  usual;  she  would,  of  course,  no  matter  what 

186 


OPEN    HOUSE 

sentimental  episode  might  have  passed  between 
them.  Ann  could  torture  herself  into  believing 
anything. 

He  was  heart-breakingly  kind  to  Ann  all  the 
following  week,  but  he  kept  away.  Caspar  was 
too  deeply  absorbed  in  an  outside  tragedy  he 
was  trying  to  avert  to  pay  much  attention  to  his 
household,  and  Cassandra,  who  was  wholly  guilt- 
less in  the  matter,  noticed  only  that  the  young 
professor  was  quieter  than  usual.  He  was  al- 
ways, to  her,  a  person  easily  forgotten. 

That  she  should  have  been  taken,  into  his 
confidence  was  due  solely  to  the  accident  of  her 
appearing  at  the  proper  moment  and  demanding 
it.  In  a  remote  corner  of  the  grounds  there  was 
a  plot  called  "the  experiment  garden,"  where  he 
and  Ann  had  laboured  with  equal  enthusiasm  in 
sun,  wind,  and  rain.  Curious  results  of  grafting 
and  cross-fertilizing  had  kept  them  awake  nights 
with  excitement,  and  already  they  were  on  their 
way  to  a  new  carnation  that,  if  it  proved  all  it 
promised,  wras  to  be  given  to  the  world  as  "the 
Ann  Blossom."  The  experiments  had  been  neg- 
lected this  sad  week,  and  Ann  had  not  once  been 
summoned  to  help  or  to  look  on.  Ernest  did 
little  work  himself,  but  he  had  wandered  down 
there  one  late  afternoon  and  was  sitting  on  the 
ground  beside  the  future  Ann  Blossom  carnation 

187 


OPEN    HOUSE 

with  knees  drawn  up  and  head  resting  on  his  arms 
when  Cassandra  happened  by. 

"You  don't  look  exactly  cheerful,"  she  com- 
mented, pausing.  He  protested  that  he  was,  but, 
having  seen  his  face,  she,  too,  sat  down  by  the 
Ann  Blossom  and  demanded  the  trouble. 

He  tried  to  hold  it  back,  but  it  would  come. 
It  was  only  his  eyes,  he  explained  with  a  man- 
ful attempt  at  offhand  carelessness.  The  oculist 
was  not  satisfied  with  their  progress,  and  at  the 
last  interview  had  warned  him  against  counting 
too  securely  on  going  back  to  his  work  in  the 
autumn.  Ernest  thought  it  was  all  nonsense, 
himself:  the  man  had  always  shown  himself  an 
alarmist.  But  if  it  was  true,  it  —  well,  rather 
upset  some  very  important  plans.  Important  to 
him,  at  least.  He  was  eagerly  ready  to  smile  at 
the  size  of  his  tragedy,  as  seen  from  the  world's 
viewpoint. 

"I  am  very  fortunate  in  not  having  anyone 
dependent  upon  me,"  he  added,  after  expressing 
his  stout  disbelief  in  the  warning. 

"What  does  Dr.  Diman  say?"  was  her  first 
question.  He  had  not  told  Dr.  Diman  or  any- 
one, and  was  nervously  anxious  for  her  promise 
of  secrecy.  The  doctor  had  all  he  could  carry, 
just  now,  and  there  was  no  sense  in  worrying 
other  people.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  have  told 

188 


OPEN    HOUSE 

her,  but  he  was  apologetic  for  the  selfishness  of 
it.  Nothing  could  be  done. 

"But  haven't  your  eyes  felt  better  lately?"  she 
demanded. 

"Very  much.  I  thought  he  would  tell  me  that 
they  would  be  practically  well  again  by  autumn." 

"Very  well,  then!  I  should  go  to  town  to- 
morrow and  consult  the  biggest  oculist  there." 
Ernest  looked  up,  brightening. 

"You  think  he  might  disagree?" 

"I  do.  Moreover,  if  you  sit  here  wondering 
about  them,  you  are  bound  to  make  them  worse. 
Have  you  money  enough?"  she  added,  feeling 
that  he  hesitated. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  can  manage  that,"  he  said  so  has- 
tily that  she  knew  she  had  hit  on  a  difficulty.  In 
her  pocket  lay  an  envelope  containing  a  month's 
salary,  and  she  drew  it  out,  keeping  it  concealed  in 
the  palm  of  her  hand. 

"Look  here,"  she  began;  "if  you  tell  him  you 
come  from  Dr.  Diman,  he  probably  won't  ask 
his  regular  fee.  But  hi  any  case  you  must  feel 
you  have  plenty  with  you.  Put  that  in  your 
pocket."  And  she  dropped  the  envelope  into 
his  hand. 

"Oh,  no!  Miss  Joyce  —  it  is  impossible!" 
He  was  crimson. 

"Nonsense!"  She  would  not  take  it  back. 
189 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"It  is  what  any  friend  would  do,  isn't  it?    And 
aren't  we  friends?" 

"Surely.    But—" 

"I  know  everything  you  want  to  say;"  she 
spoke  more  gently.  "Don't  say  it.  Just  do  as 
I  ask.  And  when  you  are  at  work  again,  you 
can  pay  it  back.  Please,  Ernest." 

The  use  of  his  first  name  won,  though  there 
had  to  be  a  great  deal  more  argument  before  the 
flush  had  left  his  face  and  the  envelope  was  put 
into  his  pocket.  They  stayed  talking  for  a  long 
time,  and  it  was  a  much  cheered  person  who 
finally  followed  her  back  to  the  house.  Ann, 
who  always  knew  instinctively  where  Ernest  was, 
had  seen  Cassandra  take  the  path  to  the  experi- 
ment garden  two  hours  before,  and  she  heard  his 
laughter  as  they  came  back  together.  For  once 
her  courage  failed  her.  Hattie  informed  them, 
later,  that  Miss  Blossom  had  gone  to  bed  with  a 
headache  and  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. 

Ernest  was  on  his  way  to  town  before  the  house- 
hold gathered  for  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
but  early  in  the  afternoon  he  reappeared  with  a 
general  air  of  having  run  all  the  way  home.  He 
waved  his  hat  boyishly  to  Cassandra  from  the 
doorway,  with  a  laugh  that  told  his  news,  then, 
catching  sight  of  Ann  Blossom  in  the  garden,  he 
darted  after  her. 

190 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Isn't  it  a  great  day!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Isn't  it!"  she  echoed  automatically. 

"Oh,  Ann,  I  have  had  such  a  week!"  And 
the  tale  of  his  fright,  followed  by  to-day's  com- 
plete reassurance,  was  poured  out  without  re- 
serve or  manful  attitudinizing:  no  "only  eyes" 
nonsense  in  telling  Ann.  He  was  so  sure  of  her 
sympathy,  so  intent  on  the  tremendous  thing  he 
meant  to  say,  when  his  physical  well-being  had 
been  sufficiently  emphasized,  that  he  scarcely 
noticed  her  silence;  he  could  see  only  the  soft 
outline  of  the  downcast  face.  When  some  of 
this  exuberance  ran  over  in  praise  of  Miss  Joyce, 
the  head  was  abruptly  lifted. 

"Didn't  she  show  splendid  sense?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "She  is  really  a  fine  woman,  Ann  — 
so  strong  and  clear-headed.  We  are  fortunate  to 
be  her  friends."  The  only  detail  he  had  not 
confided  was  the  envelope  in  his  pocket  —  still 
unopened,  for  the  great  man  had  insisted  that 
his  services  should  be  a  brotherhood  offering  to 
Dr.  Diman. 

"So  you  told  her  —  first,"  said  Ann,  quietly. 

"Why,  it  merely  happened;"  Ernest  looked 
bewildered. 

"I  don't  know;  I  should  think  it  would  have 
been  more  natural  to  tell  old  friends,  like  Dr. 
Diman  or  me." 

191 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"But,  Ann—!" 

"It  doesn't  matter.  I  can  understand  it  per- 
fectly." She  smiled  kindly,  but  from  a  distance. 
"As  you  say,  she  is  unusually  fine  and  strong. 
Suppose  we  tell  her  the  good  news  at  once." 
She  firmly  led  him  back  to  the  house  and  turned 
him  over  to  Cassandra,  making  an  escape  up- 
stairs herself. 

In  her  own  room,  it  is  shameful  to  relate,  she 
laughed,  a  smothered,  joyful,  excited  laugh.  In 
all  her  gentle  life  she  had  never  before  wilfully 
hurt  anyone,  and  she  found  a  novel  and  wicked 
satisfaction  in  prolonging  what  had  undeniably 
been  a  stab  of  pain  into  a  righteous  grievance. 
Someone  had  to  pay  for  the  week  she  had  gone 
through!  So,  with  the  utmost  friendliness,  she 
kept  Ernest  at  a  distance,  maliciously  threw  him 
and  Cassandra  together,  and,  giddy  with  hope, 
enjoyed  herself  exceedingly  for  two  days  that  were 
quite  as  long  as  the  preceding  ones  to  the  baffled, 
apologetic  young  professor.  On  the  second 
morning  he  lured  her  into  a  set  of  tennis,  but 
she  dropped  it  in  the  middle  on  a  palpable  ex- 
cuse. Her  face  was  mischievously  radiant,  her 
light  brown  hair  wildly  disordered,  as  she  came 
running  into  the  big  room  with  a  box  under  one 
arm. 

"A  boy  just  brought  this  for  you,  Miss  Joyce." 
192 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Her  happy  voice  preceded  her.  "I  thought  per- 
haps it  was  a  birthday  present  for  Miss  Snell,  so 
I  intercepted  him." 

"Is  it  Miss  SnelPs  birthday?"  Cassandra 
asked,  pulling  the  string  from  the  florist's  box 
that  Ann  had  laid  in  front  of  her. 

"Yes.  I  do  wish  we  had  known  it  in  time  to 
make  a  proper  birthday  fuss  over  her.  Miss 
Myrtle  says  it  is  too  late  even  for  a  cake." 

Cassandra  slowly  shook  her  head.  "I  couldn't 
make  a  fuss  over  Miss  Snell." 

"But  she  is  such  a  poor  old  thing,  and  Dr. 
Diman  would  have  been  so  pleased,"  Ann  urged. 
The  last  reason  arrested  Cassandra's  interest. 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  because  she  is  his  pet  cure  —  if  you  could 
have  seen  her,  when  she  came!  And  because  he 
is  so  sorry  for  lonely  people.  I  gave  her  .a  little 
handkerchief  someone  had  given  me,  and  though 
she  didn't  say  much,  you  could  see  how  touched 
and  delighted  she  was,  underneath.  Oh,  how 
lovely!"  Ann  clasped  her  hands  over  a  fragrant 
mass  of  gardenias. 

Cassandra  lifted  them  and  glanced  carelessly 
in  the  box  for  a  card,  a  purely  formal  precaution, 
as  these  offerings  had  always  come  without  name. 
Then  she  laid  the  flowers  back  and  replaced  the 
cover. 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"  Suppose  we  give  them  to  Miss  Snell  as  a  birth- 
day present,"  she  suggested. 

"Oh,  how  darling  of  you!"  Ann  evidently 
found  it  hard  not  to  embrace  her. 

"She  would  never  take  them  from  me,"  Cas- 
sandra added.  "We  are  not  on  the  best  possible 
terms.  Should  you  like  to  give  them?" 

Ann  demurred:  so  lavish  a  present  would  not 
be  suitable,  from  her.  They  finally  decided  that 
the  box  should  be  done  up  with  a  printed  address 
and  delivered  anonymously  by  a  messenger,  de- 
tails which  Ann  attended  to  with  singing  enthu- 
siasm. It  was  arranged  that  the  boy  should  arrive 
at  lunch  time,  that  Miss  Snell  might  be  on  hand 
to  get  the  full  sensation. 

Ann  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  back  to 
^her  tennis  and  Cassandra  had  forgotten  the  inci- 
dent when,  an  hour  later,  she  saw  boy  and  box 
approaching.  She  strolled  quietly  up  towards  her 
room  before-«the  bell  rang,  to  avoid  any  possible 
question.  Only  Miss  Snell  and  Miss  Myrtle 
were  present  when  Hattie  opened  the  front  door. 
Miss  Snell  untied  the  box  in  silent,  even  suspi- 
cious, amazement. 

"Well,  I  must  say,  Miss  Snell,  somebody  thinks 
a  lot  of  you,"  commented  Miss  Myrtle,  with 
more  cordiality  than  she  often  displayed.  "I 
heard  it  was  your  birthday." 

194 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Such  strong  odours  are  unpleasant  to  me,  but 
it  was  kindly  intended,"  Miss  Snell  admitted. 
Her  tone  was  coldly  grudging,  but  the  giver,  lurk- 
ing unseen  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  could  detect 
a  gratified  flush  on  the  sallow  face.  "There  does 
not  seem  to  be  any  card  with  them,"  she  added, 
lifting  out  the  flowers  and  turning  to  look  again 
at  the  printed  address. 

"What  is  this?"  And,  to  Cassandra's  horror, 
Miss  Myrtle  stooped  and  picked  up  a  small  white 
envelope  that  had  slipped  from  among  the  heavy 
blossoms.  The  girl  paled  with  dismay  and 
started  forward,  then  stopped  helplessly  where 
she  was.  The  gift  had  been  well  meant,  and  the 
prospect  of  being  hideously  snubbed  for  her 
kindly  impulse  was  unendurable.  A  faint  hope 
of  escaping  detection  sprang  up  when  she  saw 
that  there  was  no  name  on  the  envelope,  and 
deepened  to  a  momentary  relief  as  Miss  Snell 
drew  out,  not  a  man's  engraved  card,  but  the 
ordinary  blank  one  supplied  by  florists.  Some- 
thing was  written  on  it  in  pencil,  and  Cassandra 
grew  cold  and  dizzy  again  as  she  faced  the 
possibilities.  What  had  that  abominable  man 
said? 

It  was  obviously  not  a  casual  message.  The 
flush  ebbed  from  Miss  SnelPs  face  as  she  spelled 
it  out.  She  pushed  the  flowers  from  her  lap 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  turned  hastily  to  the  couch.  "I  must  lie 
down,"  she  stammered.  Miss  Myrtle  allowed 
her  to  arrange  herself  with  unfeeling  inatten- 
tion. 

"If  you  want  me  to  get  water  for  these,  I  will," 
she  said,  gathering  them  up  and  laying  them  on 
the  table.  As  Miss  Snell  returned  no  answer 
beyond  a  brief  closing  of  her  eyes,  she  trotted 
off  with  a  muttered,  "Smelled  of  gas,  I  suppose!" 
and  shut  the  door  vigorously  behind  her. 

Cassandra,  from  the  stairs,  saw  Miss  Snell 
open  the  hand  that  had  clenched  on  the  card  and 
read  the  message  again  and  again,  sometimes  in 
wide-eyed  distress,  sometimes  with  frightened 
excitement.  Her  lips  moved  silently.  Once  or 
twice  she  half  started  up,  and  then  sank  back 
again.  When  Dr.  Diman  came  in,  she  thrust 
the  card  into  the  black  silk  bag  that  hung  at  her 
belt  and  made  a  desperate  effort  at  composure. 

"Hello!  What  have  you  been  doing  to  your- 
self?" he  demanded. 

"Nothing.  A  momentary  —  I  feel  better  for 
lying  down."  She  moved  uneasily  under  his 
scrutiny.  "See  the  present  I  have  just  had," 
she  added,  to  turn  his  eyes  from  her  twitching 
face. 

"Very  nice  indeed,"  he  assented  absently. 

Ann  and  Ernest,  coming  in  at  that  moment 
196 


OPEN    HOUSE 

from  the  garden,  showed  a  proper  enthusiasm 
over  the  present,  which  was  borne  off  to  decorate 
the  lunch  table. 

"You  should  have  had  a  surprise  party  and  a 
cake  if  we  had  known  about  your  birthday  in 
time,"  Ann  told  her. 

11 1  don't  eat  cake,  and  surprises  upset  my 
heart,  but  I  am  sure  you  are  very  kind,"  said  Miss 
Snell,  making  a  shattered  effort  to  rise. 

Cassandra  came  reluctantly  down  and  followed 
the  rest  to  the  dining-room  in  silence.  Obvi- 
ously the  card  had  not  betrayed  her;  but  what 
had  the  man  said? 

Miss  Snell  ate  nothing,  and  presently  retreated 
again  to  the  hall  couch.  Dr.  Diman  cut  his  lunch 
in  half  to  follow  her,  though  no  one  would  have 
guessed  it  by  the  casual  way  he  picked  up  a  paper 
and  sat  down  a  little  out  of  her  range  of  vision. 
The  paper  turned  quietly  at  intervals,  but  it  was 
ten  minutes  before  she  spoke. 

"Dr.  Diman."  It  came  with  a  nervous  jerk. 
.  His  harmonious,  unstartling,  "Well?"  brought 
her  voice  down  several  keys. 

"Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  librarian  in 
the  Sciences  and  Religions  department  of  the 
library?"  was  the  unexpected  question. 

"Why,  let  me  see  —  little  bald  chap  who  shuffles 
his  feet?" 

197 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"He  has  a  well-stored  intelligence,  and  his 
features  are  noticeably  refined,"  said  Miss  Snell 
coldly. 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  so,"  he  apologized  with  a 
startled  glance  at  the  top  of  her  head.  "Why, 
isn't  his  name  Barnes?" 

"#,"  breathed  Miss  Snell,  closing  her  eyes. 
"Do  you  know  his  first  initial?"  she  added 
faintly.  . 

"No,  I  don't.  I  am  not  certain  about  Barnes, 
either.  Could  it  be  Downes?  Some  such  name. 
He  has  often  helped  me  out;  I  ought  not  to  have 
forgotten." 

"It  is  probably  Barnes,"  she  said  with  finality. 
"He  has  shown  me  —  marked  courtesy.  I  have 
been  appreciative  of  it  —  nothing  more."  Her 
voice  rose  excitedly.  "A  lady  is  always  courteous 
to  a  gentleman  who  goes  out  of  his  way  to  assist 
her.  No  one  has  a  right  to  —  misconstrue  such 
courtesy,  or  to  —  take  —  advantage  of  it.  I  —  I 
shall  not  consider  myself  to  blame,  in  any  event  - 
Her  words  were  lost  in  nervous  sobbing. 

"Can't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened?" 
In  spite  of  the  gentleness  of  his  approach,  she 
took  panic. 

"Nothing  has  happened,  nothing  whatever," 
she  gasped.  "I  am  f-fanciful,  that  is  all.  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  talk  about  it!"  He  waited 

xoS 


OPEN    HOUSE 

until  her  sobs  had  ceased,  then  rose  with  deter- 
mination. 

"I  will  give  you  five  minutes  to  get  ready  in," 
he  said,  offering  his  hand  to  help  her  rise. 

"Ready  for  whom  —  what?"  she  almost 
shrieked. 

"For  a  birthday  drive  with  me,"  he  reassured 
her.  "I  shall  have  to  stop  for  a  consultation 
on  the  way,  but  that  won't  take  long." 

"You  won't  expect  me  to  hold  the  horse?" 

"Certainly  not.  I'll  tie  him  head  and  tail  if 
you  like.  Come  on." 

She  rose,  then  sank  back.  "I  am  not  equal," 
she  murmured. 

He  insisted  that  she  would  be  presently  and 
despatched  Ann  for  her  things;  and  after  the 
latter  had  made  three  willing  trips  to  the  top  of 
the  house  for  special  varieties  of  veil,  gloves,  and 
wrap,  they  got  off.  Ann  looked  pitifully  after 
them. 

"Poor  old  dear,  with  all  he  had  to  do  this 
afternoon,"  she  sighed.  "What  do  you  suppose 
could  have  upset  Miss  Snell  so?" 

Cassandra  turned  impatiently  from  the  topic. 
She  felt  angry  and  ill-used  that  her  first  small 
effort  towards  a  kinder  attitude  should  have  been 
requited  so  badly.  The  need  to  know  what  the 
card  had  said  harassed  her  into  hunting  for  the 

199 


OPEN    HOUSE 

black  silk  bag,  which  might  by  merciful  chance 
have  followed  its  daily  habit  of  dropping  off. 
But  to-day  fate  was  against  her;  the  bag  had 
obviously  gone  driving. 

Miss  Snell  looked  more  composed  when  Dr. 
Diman  set  her  down  at  the  garden  gate,  two  hours 
later,  and  hurried  on  to  do  what  he  could  with 
the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  She  came  in 
without  seeming  to  see  Cassandra,  a  daily  inten- 
tion which  the  latter  found  a  wicked  pleasure  in 
frustrating. 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  drive?"  she  asked 
with  specious  cordiality. 

"Very,  thank  you,"  Miss  Snell  conceded,  after 
a  pause;  the  gathering  string  of  her  lips  was 
drawn  to  its  tightest.  Then  her  chilly  precision 
was  shattered  by  an  exclamation  of  alarm.  She 
clutched  wildly  about  her  belt.  "My  bag,  my 
black  silk  bag,"  she  stammered. 

"You  have  dropped  it?"  cried  Cassandra 
hopefully,  jumping  up.  Miss  Snell  had  no  time 
for  small  animosities  now.  "I  had  it  when  I 
started.  Oh,  I  must  find  it!"  Cassandra  was 
all  obligingness  in  the  matter  of  searching.  They 
followed  Miss  Snell's  path  down  to  the  gate, 
and  even  walked  along  the  road  a  short  dis- 
tance. 

"You  must  have  lost  it  off  in  the  carriage," 
200 


v       OPEN    HOUSE 

Cassandra  finally  decided.  "It  will  come  home 
safe  with  Dr.  Diman.  If  it  does  not,  I  am  sure 
Miss  Blossom  will  make  you  another,"  she  added 
guilelessly. 

"I  happen  to  want  this  one,"  was  the  curt 
answer,  as  Miss  Snell  turned  unhappily  to  her 
own  room. 

Cassandra  was  watching  for  Dr.  Diman  when 
he  came  back.  She  ran  out  and  stopped  him  on 
his  way  to  the  stable.  "Did  Miss  Snell  leave  a 
bag  in  the  carriage?"  she  asked  eagerly.  "She 
has  been  so  distressed  about  losing  it."  He 
looked  at  her  very  kindly  in  return  for  her 
solicitude. 

"Yes,  here  it  is.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that 
she  would  worry,"  he  said  in  so  warm  a  voice 
that  she  felt  dimly  ashamed.  But  she  had  not 
time  for  side  issues  now.  The  unfortunate  card 
was  in  her  possession  and  she  must  seize  her 
chance. 

She  ran  back  into  the  empty  hall,  and  stood 
panting  and  hesitating  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
There  was  nothing  unscrupulous  in  reading  a 
note  intended  for  herself;  yet  the  apparent  under- 
handedness  of  the  act  revolted  her  even  as  she 
fumbled  with  the  ribbons  that  held  the  top.  They 
opened  at  her  pull,  and  her  fingers  had  already 
found  the  little  envelope  within  when  an  acid 

201 


OPEN    HOUSE 

voice  fell  from  above  like  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  guilt. 

"When  you  have  quite  finished  exploring  my 
bag,  Miss  Joyce,  I  will  take  it."  Miss  Snell 
stood  in  the  shadow  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  so 
tremulous  with  anger  that  she  had  to  support 
herself  by  the  banister;  her  face  worked  like 
a  crying  child's,  though  she  managed  to  keep  her 
voice  jerkily  articulate.  Cassandra  stared  at  her 
in  helpless  silence,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
that  her  conduct  was  not  as  outrageous  as  it 
looked.  "I  suspected  it  wasn't  all  kindness  that 
made  you  so  zealous  about  my  bag!  I  knew  you 
better  than  that,  miss!  I  thought  I  had  better 
be  down  here  to  get  it  myself,  and  it  seems  I  was 
just  in  time.  Of  course,  if  there  is  anything  you 
want  to  know  about  my  private  affairs  - 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake!"  Cassandra  broke  in. 
"Don't  be  so  unreasonable.  I  know  it  looked 
queer,  but  if  you  will  calm  down  enough  to  hear 
the  whole  truth  — " 

Miss  Snell  broke  into  hysterical  crying.  "I 
won't  hear  another  word  from  you!  Don't  you 
ever  presume  to  address  me!  Drop  my  bag  at 
once!" 

"But,  you  old  fool,"  blazed  Cassandra,  throw- 
ing down  the  bag. 

"That  will  do,  please!"  Caspar's  voice,  quiet 
202 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  stern,  fell  chillingly  on  her  wrath  as  he  strode 
past  her,  picking  up  first  the  bag,  then  the  sob- 
bing, crouching  figure  on  the  stairs.  "Come  up 
to  your  room,"  he  said  in  a  wholly  different  tone, 
and,  clinging  to  him,  she  let  herself  be  half  car- 
ried away. 

Cassandra  threw  herself  miserably  into  a  chair 
to  await  his  return.  She  had  tried  to  please 
him,  to  do  a  kind  act,  and  she  was  only  in  deeper 
disgrace  than  ever.  She  was  a  failure  —  always 
a  failure.  But  Caspar  should  not  be  left  to  think 
that  she  read  other  people's  letters.  No  matter 
how  angry  he  was,  he  must  hear  the  truth  about 
that. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  came  down.  She 
waited  for  him  to  speak,  but  he  passed  her  with- 
out a  glance  and  closed  the  door  of  his  office 
behind  him.  After  a  moment's  hesitation,  Cas- 
sandra rose  and  knocked.  Her  head  was  well 
up,  but  her  heart  had  never  thudded  so  terribly 
in  all  her  life.  At  his  "Come"  she  pushed  open 
the  door,  but  did  not  enter. 

"Dr.  Diman,  it  is  not  fair  that  you  should 
think  Miss  Snell  accused  me  justly."  It  was 
humiliating,  how  her  voice  stumbled  and  shook, 
but  she  kept  doggedly  on.  "I  did  look  as  if  I 
were  trying  to  pry  into  her  affairs,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  — " 

203 


OPEN    HOUSE 

His  gesture  seemed  to  brush  all  that  aside. 
"You  don't  need  to  assure  me  of  that.  Accusa- 
tions made  by  a  person  in  her  nervous  state  are 
wholly  unimportant  —  couldn  't  you  have  real- 
ized that?"  He  leaned  his  arms  on  the  desk 
and  for  the  first  time  looked  at  her.  His  lifted 
face  was  so  sad  and  tired  that  she  could  have 
flung  herself  at  his  feet  in  her  sudden,  over- 
whelming abasement;  but  she  only  held  her  head 
a  little  higher  in  a  desperate  effort  after  self- 
control.  "You  would  not  anwer  back  or  be 
angry  if  someone  accused  you  in  delirium,  would 
you  ?  The  only  way  to  deal  with  sick  people  is 
to  take  the  nurse's  attitude  —  to  eliminate  self 
beyond  the  possibility  of  a  grievance.  Until  you 
realize  that,  you  will  inevitably  do  more  harm 
than  good."  He  let  his  hands  drop  before  him 
and  turned  away.  "Will  you  kindly  ask  Ann 
Blossom  to  come  here?"  he  added. 

Cassandra  closed  the  door  in  silence  on  her 
dismissal,  but  her  face  flamed.  Ann  Blossom  - 
always  Ann  Blossom!  She,  Cassandra,  made 
trouble,  and  now  Ann  Blossom  was  undoubtedly 
summoned  to  help  smooth  it  out.  They  were 
like  two  Sunday-school  heroines,  the  bad  one  and 
the  good  one.  Great  heavens,  how  banal  it  all 
was! 

Ann  was  strolling  down  the  garden  path,  still 
204 


OPEN    HOUSE 

with  the  lighted  face  that  she  had  shown  ever 
since  Ernest  had  come  hurrying  back  from  town 
with  his  good  news.  She  had  a  trick  of  walking 
with  her  hands  turned  slightly  out  at  her  sides, 
as  though  to  suit  the  convenience  of  little  clinging 
fingers;  at  such  times  her  steps  loitered  happily 
by  the  pansy  bed  and  the  puff  balls  in  the  grass. 

The  dreaminess  vanished  from  her  eyes  as 
the  doctor's  message  was  curtly  delivered;  she 
came  with  a  glad  alacrity  that  Cassandra  found 
maddening.  Really,  the  girl  was  scarcely  decent 
in  the  openness  of  her  adoration.  Dr.  Diman 
would  find  it  cloying  if  he  were  not  such  a  —  such 
an  innocent,  Cassandra  hotly  concluded. 

She  was  still  standing  in  the  doorway,  scowling 
into  the  garden,  when  Ernest  came  contentedly 
from  his  finished  labours,  polishing  his  dark 
glasses,  preparatory  to  putting  them  away,  and 
looking  about  with  satisfaction  on  his  orderly 
domain.  "Several  interesting  things  are  hap- 
pening in  the  experiment  garden,"  he  told  her. 
"Should  you  like  to  come  and  see?" 

"No,"  said  Cassandra. 

A  nearer  view  of  her  face  checked  his  laughter. 
"Tired  to  death?"  he  asked  with  his  ready  sym- 
pathy. 

"Tired  to  death;  bored  to  death;  discouraged 
to  death!  I  am  going  to  run  away." 


20  = 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Will  you  let  me  run  away  with  you?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to  escape." 

"I  don't.  I  want  to  bring  you  back  when  you 
have  had  enough." 

"Dr.  Diman  would  not  thank  you.  Nothing 
would  delight  and  relieve  him  like  my  disappear- 
ance." 

"You  don't  really  think  that." 

"Don't  I?  Well,  it  matters  so  little  what  I 
think  that  I  shall  not  argue  about  it." 

"Poor  soul!    What  can  I  do  for  you ?" 

She  sighed  fretfully.  "I  think,  if  you  were  to 
admire  me  a  little,  it  might  help,"  she  admitted. 
"I  have  been  called  names  ever  since  I  came  here! 
Most  of  them  true,  but  I  am  not  used  to  that  sort 
of  truth,  and  I  find  it  —  wearing."  The  office 
door  had  opened,  and  Ann  and  Caspar  had  come 
slowly  out,  talking  in  an  earnest  undertone.  The 
young  man,  braced  in  the  doorway  with  his  back 
to  the  great  room,  had  not  heard  them;  but  Cas- 
sandra, keenly  conscious  of  Ann's  upturned  face 
and  Caspar's  hand  on  her  shoulder,  felt  a  fierce 
impulse  to  punish,  to  show  herself  heart-whole 
and  desired  of  other  men.  She  bent  towards 
Ernest,  smiling  subtly. 

"Couldn't  you  please  admire  me,  just  this 
once?"  she  murmured. 

His  senses  were  obviously  startled  out  of  their 
206 


OPEN    HOUSE 

usual  calm  balance  by  the  appeal.  "I  think  I 
could  manage  it,  Miss  Joyce!"  His  laugh  was 
breathless. 

"How  will  you  show  it?"  The  voices  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall  had  faltered,  were  continuing 
less  smoothly.  That  was  something.  "You  will 
have  to  rub  it  in,  if  you  are  going  to  comfort  me 
to-night."  She  braced  her  hand  against  the  door 
jamb,  so  that  her  arm  was  not  three  inches  from 
his  ear.  "How,  how?"  she  repeated  imperi- 
ously. He  had  actually  flushed,  this  untried 
young  professor  of  botany.  He  would  never 
of  himself  have  dared  to  lift  her  other  hand  to 
his  lips,  but  she  gave  it  to  him,  and  some  outside 
force  seemed  to  carry  it  there.  To  be  sure,  he 
dropped  it  unceremoniously,  looking  distinctly 
ashamed;  but  little  she  cared,  since  that  earnest 
tete-a-tete  by  the  office  door  had  been  effectually 
broken  up.  Ann  had  disappeared. 

"Come  and  run  away  with  me;  I  need  to  get 
off  the   place,"   she   begged.     "Take   me   miles' 
away." 

"Anywhere  you  like,"  he  assented,  evidently 
relieved  at  the  prospect  of  action.  A  few  mo- 
ments later  she  nodded  a  casual  good-by  to 
Caspar  as  she  ran  down  the  stairs. 

"I  am  going  out  with  Mr.  Cunningham.  Don't 
wait  dinner  if  we  are  not  here."  He  made  no 

207 


OPEN    HOUSE 

answer  whatever,   a  rudeness  that  gave   her  a 
wicked  satisfaction. 

They  were  not  back  at  dinner-time,  nor  at 
eight,  nor  when  the  clock  struck  nine  of  the  warm 
summer  night.  Ann  brought  her  sewing  and 
sat  down  by  Caspar,  working  feverishly.  Ever 
since  the  two  had  closed  the  gate  behind  them  in 
the  late  afternoon,  she  had  been  indefatigable, 
waiting  on  Miss  Snell,  who  had  gone  to  bed,  a 
mass  of  wrecked  nerves,  helping  Hattie,  running 
errands  for  Miss  Myrtle;  but  all  the  day's  bright- 
ness had  been  crushed  out. 

"Read  to  me,"  she  begged  when  she  and 
Caspar  were  left  alone  together;  "just  where 
you  are." 

"Well,  if  you  think  that  the  Opsonic  Index  in 
Diabetes  Mellitus  would  amuse  you  - 

"Yes,  it  would.  I  don't  care  what  it  means: 
I  just  want  to  hear  your  voice." 

He  began  at  once,  paying  little  heed  to  the 
meaning  himself  in  his  poignant  consciousness  of 
her  suffering.  Her  transparent  face  had  a  stricken 
pallor  that  drew  his  glance  again  and  again. 
She  sewed  furiously,  her  eyes  wide  and  fixed,  her 
lips  opening  now  and  then  to  a  silent  gasp,  as 
though  the  hurt  were  a  bodily  wound.  Any 
sound  from  without  visibly  stabbed  her.  Cas- 
par suddenly  dropped  his  pamphlet. 

208 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Ann,  should  you  like  to  go  away?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Should  you  like  —  anyone  else  to  go  away?" 

"No."  She  looked  up  at  him  with  desperate 
courage.  "I  don't  want  what  isn't  mine  by 
rights.  If  a  thing  can  be  won  away  from  me, 
then  I  would  rather  it  riappened  now.  I  won't 
have  anything  but  the  truth.  And  a  man  must 
be  true  to  his  own  heart,  whatever  it  costs." 

"It  is  not  always  a  question  of  heart.  I  wish 
you  knew  more  about  men,  Ann  dear.  It  would 
help  you  to  understand." 

"Can't  you  tell  me?    I  need  help." 

He  tried  to,  very  frankly  and  affectionately,  but 
she  was  too  full  of  pain  to  understand.  Presently 
she  started  up,  letting  her  work  fall. 

"No,  no  —  it's  no  use.  Men  may  be  like 
that,  but  this  is  different.  Who  would  care  for 
me  after  knowing  a  woman  like  her?" 

He  rose  to  put  impressive  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"Ann  Blossom,"  he  said  earnestly,  "three  men 
would  love  you  where  one  would  love  her.  She 
is  dazzling,  perhaps,  but  —  only  a  fool  could  find 
her  more  desirable,"  he  ended  with  bitter  vehe- 
mence. She  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  burying 
her  face  against  his  coat. 

"All,  comfort  me,  comfort  me!"  she  sobbed, 
209 


OPEN    HOUSE 

not  knowing  what  she  said.  He  held  her  close 
with  his  cheek  against  her  hair.  After  a  moment 
she  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  up-stairs,  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

Caspar  went  into  his  office  and  closed  the  door. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  anyone  crossing  the 
lawn  might  have  seen  through  the  glass  doors, 
and  misunderstood. 


210 


IX 

Miss  SNELL  was  visibly  worse  the  next  day. 
Symptoms  that  had  been  banished  two  or  three 
months  before  reasserted  themselves.  She  com- 
plained of  improbable  throbbings,  impossible 
pains;  one  hour  her  right  arm  was  pronounced 
helpless,  the  next  she  was  unable  to  walk.  Weeks 
of  apparent  gain  seemed  to  be  swept  away  by 
some  hysterical  excitement,  the  source  of  which 
Dr.  Diman  laboured  in  vain  to  discover.  He  was 
called  away  for  the  day  and  went  most  reluctantly. 

"If  you  can  only  find  out  what  she  has  got  in 
her  head!"  were  his  last  words  to  Ann.  She 
smiled  courageously  over  her  promise  to  try. 
Neither  had  made  any  allusion  to  last  night,  even 
when  he  had  handed  her  a  pencilled  note,  found 
on  the  breakfast  table,  in  which  Ernest  an- 
nounced, without  explanation,  that  he  had  gone 
off  for  two  or  three  days. 

Cassandra  came  down  late,  her  eyes  heavy,  her 
lips  in  a  very  straight  line.  She  was  not  surprised 
to  find  Ernest  gone;  the  look  in  his  face  last 
night  when,  pale  and  oppressed,  they  entered 
the  empty  hall,  had  been  a  revealing  one.  The 

211 


OPEN    HOUSE 

whole  evening  had  been  leading  up  to  some  such 
explanation.  The  scene  had  been  obviously  set 
for  romance.  Cassandra,  strung  with  vivid  con- 
sciousness of  her  own  vitality  and  power,  and 
angrily  reckless  how  she  used  them,  had  looked 
to  see  this  inexperienced  young  teacher  of  botany 
crumple  helplessly  before  her.  He  was  to  be 
the  sacrifice  to  her  hurt  vanity,  the  scapegoat 
for  her  suffering.  They  went  swinging  through 
miles  of  green  country  in  an  open  car,  mercifully 
deserted;  they  dined  under  grape-vines,  four 
elbows  on  a  little  table  and  a  bottle  of  vin  ordi- 
naire between  them:  they  came  swinging  home 
again  through  the  scented  darkness,  and  all  the 
time  the  young  botanist  had  laughed,  argued, 
admired,  —  and  looked  on.  He  was  like  a  spec- 
tator at  an  exciting  new  show;  no  applause  was 
withheld,  but  at  the  close  he  would  go  peaceably 
home  to  his  own.  And  what  his  own  was  she 
saw  with  startling  clearness  as  they  came  into  the 
lamplight. 

"Didn't  you  know  she  was  in  love  with  him?" 
she  had  asked,  with  a  laugh  that  must  have 
seemed  to  him  heartless. 

"In  love  —  with  Dr.  Diman?"  he  repeated 
dazedly. 

"Good  heavens,  yes!  Haven't  you  seen  it?" 
It  was  a  relief  to  be  impatient  with  him.  "But 

212 


OPEN    HOUSE 

I  never  dreamed  that  he  —  a  man  of  his  — "  The 
dryness  of  her  mouth  stopped  her. 

"Of  course.  A  man  like  that  —  she  would 
be,  naturally,"  he  stammered.  "They  are  —  I 
think,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  -  He 
turned  to  the  stairs  and  left  her  without  a  look. 
So  he  was  explained,  this  untried  young  professor 
who  had  withstood  so  genially  her  imperious 
femininity.  In  love  with  Ann  Blossom,  of  course; 
everyone  was  in  love  with  Ann  Blossom.  Her 
breath  came  sobbingly,  though  her  eyes  were  dry 
and  hard.  That  was  the  sort  of  woman  who 
always  won :  dependent  and  innocent  and  — 

"Oh,  God!"  broke  sharply  from  her.  She 
pressed  her  palm  against  her  shaking  mouth  and 
ran  up  to  her  room. 

Miss  Snell  spent  the  morning  in  bed,  but  after 
luncheon  let  Ann  persuade  her  to  come  down 
where  it  was  cooler  and  establish  herself  in  the 
doctor's  office.  As  she  showed  an  inclination  to 
doze,  Ann  stole  out,  leaving  the  door  ajar.  "If 
she  wrants  anything,  would  you  mind  calling 
me?"  she  whispered  to  Cassandra,  who  was  busy 
at  her  desk. 

"Certainly,"  was  the  dry  answer.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  they  had  spoken  to  each  other 
that  day,  and  their  eyes  did  not  meet. 

Ann  went  up-stairs,  but  evidently  Miss  Snell 
213 


OPEN    HOUSE 

could  not  sleep.  Cassandra  heard  her  sighing 
and  twisting.  Presently  she  rose  and  went  with 
hurried,  furtive  steps  to  the  mantelpiece.  Cas- 
sandra, by  leaning  forward,  could  see  her  stand- 
ing in  front  of  its  old-fashioned  mirror,  staring 
intently  at  her  own  reflection.  The  narrow, 
melancholy  face,  with  its  little  patch  of  sandy 
curls  above  and  the  flaring  plaid  bow  beneath, 
seemed  to  have  hypnotized  her  into  immobility; 
but  presently  she  began  to  try  small  feminine 
experiments,  pitifully  out  of  keeping  with  her 
harassed  eyes  and  drawn  mouth.  She  lifted  the 
little  curls  back  into  a  pompadour,  then  tried 
the  effect  of  parting  and  drawing  them  down  across 
her  high  temples.  The  plaid  bow  was  turned  up 
into  a  stock,  then  concealed  under  a  handkerchief, 
whose  lace  edge  was  shaped  into  a  turnover  col- 
lar by  the  tremulous  fingers.  Her  cheeks  were 
rubbed  into  a  momentary  red. 

Cassandra  drew  back  in  disgust.  "The  old 
fool!"  was  her  impatient  thought.  This,  of 
course,  was  the  effect  of  the  ardent  message  that 
she  had  found  on  Burnett's  card:  she  supposed 
that  her  charms  had  aroused  some  vehement 
passion,  and,  womanlike,  was  anxious  to  go  on 
with  the  good  work.  Cassandra  had  a  brief 
laugh  for  the  idea,  but  there  was  little  amusement 
in  it.  Burnett's  message  and  Miss  Snell's  vaga- 

214 


OPEN    HOUSE 

ries  seemed  equally  remote  and  unimportant  in 
the  misery  that  had  closed  down  on  her  since  last 
night. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  Miss  Snell  grew  more 
flighty  and  restless.  Cassandra  could  hear  her 
talking  vehemently  to  herself,  moving  incessantly 
from  couch  to  chair  and  from  chair  to  couch. 
Whenever  the  doorbell  rang  she  gave  a  startled 
gasp  and  fled  to  the  bacl?:  regions  of  the  house. 
Cassandra  grew  as  uneasy  as  Ann  evidently 
was,  and  they  both  watched  impatiently  for  Dr. 
Diman,  though  from  different  rooms. 

He  came  at  last  with  his  unhurried  step,  his 
hat  pushed  back  on  his  head,  the  little  rose  droop- 
ing on  his  shapeless  coat.  Cassandra,  watching 
him  from  the  window,  felt  a  sudden  burning 
anguish  behind  her  eyes.  Here,  at  last,  was  the 
man  whom  one  could  love  without  compromise. 
She  had  looked  for  him  before  on  coaches  and 
automobiles,  in  ballrooms,  in  country  houses 
and  city  streets,  looked,  in  her  crass  ignorance, 
wherever  there  was  a  proper  coat  or  an  alluring 
background;  but  out  of  these  necessary  acces- 
sories the  man  of  iron  strength  and  clean  heart 
had  never  chanced  to  confront  her.  And  now, 
having  found  him,  she  knew  that  the  accessories 
to  which  she  had  committed  herself  were  as 
nothing;  but,  because  she  was  too  late,  because, 

215 


OPEN    HOUSE 

too,  she  was  spoiled  and  vulgarized  by  the  life 
she  had  led,  because  she  had  accepted  the  grim 
necessity  of  compromise,  the  best  was  not  for 
her.  And  yet,  in  that  moment,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  if  he  would  just  once  put  his  arms  about  her 
as  he  had  put  them  about  Ann  Blossom  last 
night,  she  could  bear  anything  life  might  send. 

At  the  sound  of  Caspar's  step  on  the  gravel, 
Miss  Snell,  who  had  been  induced  to  lie  down, 
started  up  with  a  gasp  that  was  almost  a  scream. 
He  came  in  hurriedly.  "What  was  that?"  he 
demanded.  Miss  Snell's  strained,  twitching  face 
at  the  office  door  was  answer  enough.  He  took 
her  up-stairs  at  once,  without  so  much  as  a  glance 
of  greeting  for  the  two  girls.  An  hour  passed 
before  he  came  down  into  the  hall  where  they 
were  waiting,  each  seemingly  unconscious  of  the 
other. 

"She  has  gone  to  sleep  with  an  opiate,"  he 
said  to  their  unspoken  inquiries.  "Ann,  I  don't 
suppose  you  found  out  what  she  has  got  on  her 
mind?  I'd  give  a  year's  income  to  know,"  he 
added,  a  hand  clasping  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"Why,  I  think  I  know,"  said  Cassandra. 

"You  do!"  There  was  exasperation  as  well 
as  relief  in  his  tone  and  she  stiffened. 

"It  is  a  guess,  of  course.  On  her  birthday  I 
turned  over  to  her  some  flowers  that  had  been 

216 


OPEN    HOUSE 

sent  to  me,  and,  unfortunately,  she  found  a  card 
in  them.  I  don't  know  what  it  said;"  her  colour 
rose;  "but  no  doubt  something  that  made  her 
think  someone  was  —  very  much  —  struck  by 
her.  I  tried  to  see  the  card  when  I  had  her  black 
silk  bag,  but  she  caught  me  and  was  furious  — 
naturally  enough.  I  should  rather  like  to  get 
hold  of  it." 

Caspar  listened  with  grave  eyes  averted.  "Ann, 
do  you  think  you  could  steal  into  her  room  and 
get  the  card?"  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

She  was  off  at  once,  her  eagerness  to  serve 
restoring  a  momentary  brightness  to  her  face. 
When  she  had  brought  the  desired  envelope,  she 
slipped  out.  The  doctor  gave  it  to  Cassandra 
and  walked  away  as  she  opened  it.  The  mes- 
sage made  her  frown  impatiently.  It  had  some- 
what the  same  effect  on  Caspar,  to  whom  she 
handed  it. 

Coming  Sunday  —  tired  of  waiting  to  be  asked.      I'd  rather 

be  thrown  out  than  never  see  you. 

G.  B. 

"Why,  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,"  Cassandra 
exclaimed.  "I  suppose  she  thought  some  ad- 
mirer was  coming  to  see  her,"  she  added,  as  he 
said  nothing. 

"Yes;  and  the  two  days  of  suspense  have  un- 
done the  work  of  two  months  —  of  all  four  months, 

217 


OPEN    HOUSE 

perhaps.  Miss  Joyce,  I  wouldn't  have  had  this 
happen  for  anything  on  earth." 

"I  am  sure  it  has  been  no  pleasure  to  me." 

"But  why  you  didn't  tell  me!  Why  you  let 
me  blunder  on,  not  understanding!  How  could 
you  be  so  thoughtless?" 

"Ah,  it  is  no  use!"  She  lifted  her  hands  in 
passionate  exasperation.  "I  am  only  a  failure 
here;  I  do  nothing  right.  I  shall  take  the  one 
way  out." 

"You  mean?"    His  anger  had  vanished. 

"I  mean  that  any  life  whatever  will  be  better 
than  this,"  she  answered  out  of  her  blinding 
pain. 

"Well,  I  suppose  we  can  have  dinner  now. 
It  is  only  three  quarters  of  an  hour  after  time," 
said  Miss  Myrtle  plaintively  from  the  door- 
way. 

The  next  morning  might  have  been  taken  as 
an  object  lesson  in  the  disadvantages  of  what 
Miss  Myrtle  called  "gratitude  service."  Hattie, 
the  one  really  sound  and  efficient  member  of  the 
household  staff,  went  to  church.  "I  feel  dread- 
fully at  not  going,  myself,  but  I'd  like  to  know 
what  would  become  of  the  house  if  I  did,"  Miss 
Myrtle  sighed.  The  remark  was  as  regular  a 
part  of  Sunday  breakfast  as  the  fishballs,  and 
usually  excited  no  more  comment,  but  to-day 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

Caspar  took  it  up  and  briefly  ordered  her  to  go. 
He  would  not  listen  to  fter  expostulations. 

"I  think  church  would  do  you  good,"  he  com- 
mented. "And  take  lunch  with  Aunt  Jennie." 

"But,  Caspar—" 

"We  won't  argue  about  it.  Go  where  you 
please,  but  don't  come  back  into  this  house 
before  four  o'clock.  I  don't  propose  to  have 
anyone  kept  a  prisoner."  He  was  as  near  irri- 
tability as  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  she  went 
disconsolately  to  get  ready. 

"Don't  blame  me  if  there  isn't  any  lunch," 
she  warned  them. 

Ann  Blossom  started  to  tidy  the  living-room, 
and  got  so  far  as  to  pile  the  faded  flowers  on  a 
newspaper  and  to  fill  a  chair  with  brushes  and 
dusters.  Then  she  recollected  that  certain  young 
plants  in  the  experiment  garden  would  need  shel- 
ter from  the  hot  sun,  and  hurried  out  to  attend 
to  them.  She  apparently  forgot  to  come  back, 
so  Cassandra  took  hold  herself,  finding  relief  in 
activity.  She  had  never  handled  brush  or  duster 
before,  yet  in  five  minutes  she  was  using  them 
more  efficiently  than  Ann  did.  The  dustpan 
puzzled  her  at  first;  the  dust  seemed  to  go  round 
and  under  it  rather  than  in. 

"Hold  it  in  your  left  hand  and  press  it  down 
harder,"  said  a  voice  over  her  head.  Caspar 

219 


OPEN    HOUSE 

was  looking  on  from  the  doorway.  "And  use 
the  brush  more  lightly  —  like  this."  He  took  it 
from  her,  and  together  they  engineered  the  fluff 
of  dust  into  the  receptacle.  Then  he  brushed  off 
his  knee  with  his  hand  and  went  on  up  to  Miss 
Snell.  Cassandra  had  not  lifted  her  eyes  or 
spoken.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ap- 
proached her  since  her  fiery  declaration  of  last 
night;  he  had  given  no  least  sign  of  any  desire 
to  turn  her  from  its  consequences.  Her  heart 
sagged  heavily  in  her  side  as  she  looked  at  the 
clock.  Burnett  would  probably  come  early  in 
the  afternoon.  And  then  — ? 

"What  else  can  I  do?"  she  cried  to  herself. 
When  she  had  finished  down-stairs  she  went  to 
her  room  and  began  to  pack  her  clothes.  If  it 
had  to  be,  it  might  as  well  come  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. "Perhaps  this  is  my  wedding  day!"  she 
thought  with  a  short  laugh. 

At  luncheon  time  she  found  a  table  for  three 
spread  in  one  end  of  the  great  hall.  "It  is  so 
much  cooler  than  the  ,  dining-room ;  but  Miss 
Myrtle  won't  let  us  when  she  is  home,"  Ann 
explained  with  resolute  cheerfulness.  "Hattie 
hasn't  come  back." 

"Wise  Hattie,"  was  the  languid  comment. 
Ann  went  into  the  office  to  drag  Caspar  forth, 
and  Cassandra  shut  her  eyes  and  ears  in  feverish 

220 


OPEN    HOUSE 

dread  of  seeing  or  hearing  some  evidence  of  the 
secret  bond  between  them.  Ann  had  evidently 
pulled  him  forcibly  to  his  feet;  her  right  hand 
still  held  his  left  as  they  came  in.  That  she 
need  not  see  their  faces,  Cassandra  began  to  fill 
the  teacups. 

"But  there  isn't  any  tea  in  it!"  said  Ann  sud- 
denly. True  enough,  the  stream  from  the  teapot 
was  clear  hot  water.  Ronsard,  who  had,  for- 
tunately, just  set  down  the  salad  bowl,  flung  up 
his  hands,  bony  fingers  hooking  desperately  at 
high  heaven. 

"Ah,  my  God!"  he  cried,  so  tragically  that 
they  laughed.  Ann  tried  to  comfort  him,  but 
he  was  too  intent  on  repairing  the  mistake  to 
heed,  and  went  off  muttering  execrations  on  him- 
self. 

"How  can  I  cut  it  without  any  knife?"  asked 
Caspar,  presently,  after  feeling  about  under  the 
edges  of  the  platter  that  held  the  cold  chicken. 

"Ah,  don't  tell  him!  He  will  feel  so  dread- 
fully," begged  Ann  as  Ronsard 's  agitated  step 
approached.  So  Caspar  affected  to  be  absorbed 
in  a  glass  of  milk,  playing  the  part  with  such 
marked  lack  of  histrionic  ability  that  she  broke 
into  nervous  laughter.  When  the  old  chef  had 
gone  she  stole  into  the  dining-room  for  the  carver 
and  brought  it  back  concealed  in  her  skirt,  where 

221 


OPEN    HOUSE 

it  had  to  stay  until  Ronsard  had  set  down  a 
belated  dish  of  olives  and  bowed  himself  off. 
Caspar  held  out  his  hand  for  the  knife  with  whim- 
sical anxiety. 

"I  had  that  ground  the  other  day,  young 
woman,"  he  warned  her.  "Dropping  it  on  your 
foot  is  no  longer  the  harmless  pastime  you  have 
usually  found  it.  I  wonder  why  you  always  drop 
things  and  Miss  Joyce  never?"  he  added  medi- 
tatively. If  this  day  held  any  suspense  or  pain 
for  him,  he  gave  no  sign  of  it. 

"Because  I  am  a  loony,"  said  Ann  promptly. 

"Perhaps  because  I  never  pretend  to  carry 
anything,"  suggested  Cassandra. 

"Consider  the  liles,  how  they  grow,"  he  mused, 
good-humouredly.  "Well,  if  carrying  things  is  to 
you  the  worst  evil,  I  suppose  you  are  right  to 
avoid  it." 

The  reference  of  his  words  sent  the  blood  back 
to  her  heart;  she  could  not  answer.  "What  else 
can  I  do?"  -the  question  seemed  to  be  dashing 
about  her  brain  like  a  little  animal  in  a  trap. 
The  way  out  was  not  through  friends.  Looking 
back,  she  seemed  never  to  have  made  any.  She 
had  been  too  absorbed  in  men  to  trouble  about 
women,  too  contemptuous  of  the  men  themselves 
-when  she  had  "found  them  out,"  as  she  ex- 
pressed it — to  keep  them.  Pride  and  the  rest- 

222 


OPEN    HOUSE 

lessness  in  her  blood  had  driven  her  like  twin 
furies;  she  could  no  more  have  stopped  for  friend- 
ship than  the  famished  could  pause  for  wild 
flowers.  The  way  out  through  marriage  with 
Burnett  had  not  seemed  so  intolerable  a  month 
before :  bitterly  undesirable,  to  be  sure,  yet  a  pos- 
sibility to  be  calmly  reckoned  with,  since  com- 
promise was  evidently  to  be  her  fate.  Yet  now 
every  sound  that  might  mean  an  arrival  at  the 
door  behind  her  came  like  a  signal  to  execution. 

11 1  want  another  glass  of  milk,  but  Ronsard 
will  be  so  distressed  if  I  get  up  and  so  agitated 
if  I  ring,"  Ann  was  saying.  "He's  such  a  dear, 
I  hate  to  bother  him." 

"Poor  old  boy,"  Caspar  commented.  "He 
must  have  had  plenty  of  Gallic  fire  in  his  day. 
He  was  with  you  a  good  many  years,  wasn't  he, 
Miss  Joyce?" 

She  started.  "With  me  —  ?  Oh,  Ronsard! 
Yes,  indeed.  And  he  was  always  making  special 
dishes  for  me;  we  were  devoted  friends.  I  know 
I  cried  when  he  went  away,  though  I  was  four- 
teen. We  all  felt  dreadfully." 

"Wouldn't  he  stay?"  asked  Ann,  still  with 
her  air  of  resolute  and  cheerful  interest. 

"Oh,  he  couldn't.  Something  dreadful  hap- 
pened to  his  daughter  Emilie,  I  never  knew  what; 
I  think  she  killed  herself.  She  had  been  edu- 

223 


OPEN    HOUSE 

cated  to  be  a  typewriter,  and  my  father  had  got 
her  a  position  in  a  big  leather  house.  Ronsard 
was  quite  off  his  head  with  grief  and  rage  and  did 
not  work  for  a  long  time.  I  heard  him  crying  and 
it  haunted  me  for  years.  I  had  not  known  before 
that  men  cried." 

"Do  they?"     Ann  turned  earnestly  to  Caspar. 

"They  prefer  not  to,"  was  the  cheerful  answer. 

"But  they  sometimes  do  —  when  it  is  all  too 
dreadful  to  stand?"  she  persisted.  He  would 
not  take  it  seriously. 

"Yes,  then  they  go  up  to  their  rooms  and  have 
a  good  cry,"  he  assured  her.  "He  has  often 
spoken  of  his  great  sorrow,"  he  went  on  to  Cas- 
sandra. "He  is  more  broken  than  his  years  war- 
rant, and  I  suppose  that  did  it.  You  have  been 
a  great  solace  to  him  here.  Talking  French 
with  him  was  a  very  real  kindness." 

"It  was  a  comfort  to  me,  too.  We  really  are 
congenial  souls,  Ronsard  and  I."  His  praise 
wounded,  it  sounded  so  final.  She  was  going, 
of  course,  but  there  was  no  need  to  see  her  off 
with  parting  tributes  until  she  gave  the  signal. 
The  clock  struck,  jarring  on  her  nerves  like  a 
blow.  She  started  from  her  seat.  "Suppose  we 
clear  the  table  for  him,"  she  said,  and  hurried 
off  to  the  kitchen  with  her  hands  full  of  cups. 
Lingering  there  to  compliment  Ronsard  on  his 

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OPEN    HOUSE 

salad,  she  did  not  hear  the  stopping  of  an  auto- 
mobile at  the  front  gate.  When  she  came  back, 
Caspar  had  opened  the  front  door  to  a  big,  well- 
dressed  man  who  was  asking  for  Miss  Joyce. 

Cassandra's  courage,  sadly  wanting  all  day, 
came  back  with  a  bound.  She  paused  for  a 
moment's  level  scrutiny  of  George  Burnett,  her 
one  way  out.  His  light  brown  moustache  swept 
straight  across  his  face,  dividing  it  into  two  dis- 
tinct halves.  Above,  in  spite  of  retreating  hair 
and  dark  marks  beneath  the  eyes,  there  was  a 
battered  semblance  of  genial  good  looks,  and  the 
high  dome  of  the  forehead  suggested  brains; 
below,  the  sagging  underlip  and  coarsened  jaw 
told  which  half  would  eventually  dominate.  His 
unmodulated  voice  proclaimed  him  self-made  and 
on  good  terms  with  his  creator.  Yet  she  had 
remembered  him  as  far  worse.  She  came  for- 
ward almost  with  relief  and  introduced  him  to 
Dr.  Diman.  Ann  had  effaced  herself  with  the 
luncheon  dishes. 

"I  did  it  in  twenty-three  minutes  from  the 
ferry;"  Mr.  Burnett  had  an  air  of  congratulat- 
ing them  all  on  the  achievement.  Caspar,  who 
had  never  learned  the  necessity  of  small  talk, 
stood  silent  and  wholly  at  his  ease,  obviously  wait- 
ing for  some  more  interesting  topic. 

"Very  good  indeed,"  said  Cassandra,  dryly. 
225 


"Rather!  We  nearly  got  arrested  three  times. 
But  it's  funny  how  the  horses  are  getting  used 
to  it.  We  didn't  scare  one  the  whole  way." 

"Yes;  the  sporting  element  is  quite  dying  out 
of  motoring,"  Cassandra  assented. 

"Oh,  no;  I  never  saw  any  fun  in  making  the 
horses  bolt.  It  caused  a  lot  of  delay,"  he  ex- 
plained gravely,  and  her  heart  sank  a  little. 

"I  shall  have  to  remember  not  to  be  funny," 
was  her  involuntary  thought.  Yet  she  felt  curi- 
ously remote  and  unconcerned.  All  the  passion- 
ate misery  of  the  past  hours  had  vanished;  she 
was  conscious  only  of  a  dull  wish  to  get  the  busi- 
ness over  with. 

Caspar  was  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair, 
looking  at  the  caller  with  an  intentness  that 
brought  out  more  clearly  than  ever  his  resemblance 
to  General  Grant. 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  the  speed  laws?  Are 
they  too  stringent,  unfair?"  he  asked. 

"They're  all  rot."  Mr.  Burnett  threw  back 
his  shoulders  and  eased  his  neck  in  his  collar. 
"Can't  possibly  keep  them;  but  you  don't  need 
to  if  you  have  the  price.  Laws!"  He  flung  it 
out  with  the  air  of  one  taking  up  a  familiar  chal- 
lenge. "Most  of  them  are  made  to  be  broken, 
anyway.  You  couldn't  run  a  legitimate  business 
a  year  if  you  changed  your  course  for  every  little 

226 


T 


OPEN    HOUSE 

lwo-for-a-cent  law  that  gets  jammed  through  the 
legislature,  and  the  fellows  that  make  them  don't 
expect  you  to.  All  they  want  is  to  be  bought  off 
next  time." 

"isn't  that  rather  sweeping?"  Caspar  asked 
with  non-committal  mildness. 

"It's  the  truth.  Our  politics  are  rotten  clear 
through,  and  the  high  muckamucks  are  no  better 
than  the  little  boodlers.  Why,  look  here!  I 
can  tell  you  something  that  all  Wall  Street  is  on 
to,  but  that  you'll  never  see  in  the  papers.  Do 
you  know  why  the  President  suddenly  dropped 
his  opposition  to  - 

"He  happens  to  be  a  good  friend  of  mine,  the 
President,"  Caspar  interrupted.  "I  saw  some- 
thing of  him  in  Cuba  when  I  was  down  there  as 
a  medical  volunteer.  I  have  a  great  admiration 
for  him." 

"H'm.  Well,  I  wasn't  going  to  say  anything 
against  him,  except  that,  like  all  the  rest  of  us, 
he's  got  his  price."  Mr.  Burnett  had  a  short 
laugh  for  human  fallibility.  "I  never  found  a 
man  yet  that  hadn't,  if  you  went  at  him  right. 
'he  muck-rakers  and  reformers  put  up  a  lot  of 
high-class  talk,  but  you  give  one  of  them  a  sniff 
of  what  he  wants  most  —  greenbacks  or  glory 
or  whatever  it  may  be  — Why,  I  could  tell  you  a 
case — " 

227 


OPEN    HOUSE 

The  telephone  interrupted.  With  a  relieved, 
"  Excuse  me,"  Dr.  Diman  answered  it,  then  came 
back  hat  in  hand. 

"I  shall  probably  not  see  you  again  this  after- 
noon," he  said  to  Burnett,  and  shook  hands;  but 
for  Cassandra  he  had  neither  word  nor  look  as 
he  went  out. 

"He  seems  a  decent  sort,"  Burnett  admitted, 
moving  to  a  chair  nearer  Cassandra's.  "What  in 
thunder  are  you  doing  here,  anyway?  Did  you 
really  mean  what  you  said,  that  you  are  grubbing 
for  your  living?" 

"I  certainly  did."  Her  eyes  rested  on  him 
passively,  neither  inviting  nor  repelling. 

"What  do  you  do?"  George  Burnett  was  not 
one  to  hesitate  over  putting  personal  questions; 
he  fired  them  unflinchingly,  and  Cassandra  had 
learned  that  a  point-blank  refusal  to  answer  was 
the  only  subtlety  that  could  reach  him  on  that 
head.  But  to-day  she  was  prepared  to  answer 
even  the  most  personal  question  of  all. 

"What  do  I  do?  Write  letters,  keep  case- 
record  books,  look  up  references  in  the  library, 
answer  the  telephone,  receive  patients  — " 

"Oh,  Lord,  stop!"  He  got  up  in  exaspera- 
tion. "You  in  penal  servitude  like  that!"  he 
muttered.  She  eyed  him  approvingly:  righteous 
wrath  became  him,  dominating  for  the  moment 

228 


* 


OPEN    HOUSE 

the  lower  part  of  his  face.  "What  does  he  give 
you?"  he  demanded,  coming  to  a  halt  in  front 
of  her  with  the  characteristic  throwing  back  of 
his  shoulders  and  sidewise  jerk  of  his  neck  — 
"As  if  his  clothes  were  not  comfortable,"  she 
reflected. 

"Thirty  dollars  a  month  and  my  board." 

"Oh,  great  Scott!"  He  went  off  into  another 
tirade  while  she  listened  passively  and  wished  it 
were  over  with.  Presently  he  drew  up  a  chair 
close  beside  her. 

"Well,  you  let  me  come,  anyway,"  he  said, 
watching  her  narrowly.  A  defensive  impulse 
made  her  protest. 

"I  did  not  happen  to  see  your  card  until  last 
night.  I  had  no  idea  until  then  that  you  were 
coming." 

"You  could  have  telegraphed." 

"Yes,  so  I  could."  After  all,  why  should  she 
defend  herself  now?  She  had  told  Caspar  her 
intention,  and  he  had  not  lifted  his  finger  to  hold 
her  back.  He  had  his  Ann  Blossom. 

"And  you  didn't,"  Burnett  insisted. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  she  admitted  gravely. 

"Well,  you  know  why  I'm  here;"  and  one  of 
his  hands  closed  down  with  practised  caution  over 
hers,  lying  helplessly  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 
It  neither  responded  nor  drew  away.  "I'm  wild 

229 


OPEN    HOUSE 

about  you.  You  can  do  anything  you  like  with 
me  —  turn  me  around  your  little  finger."  There 
was  a  tremor  of  genuine  feeling  in  his  voice. 
"My  wife's  going  to  have  everything  she  wants 
—  house  on  the  Avenue,  horses,  tiaras,  every- 
thing. I  'm  .  lavish  —  it 's  my  way.  Plenty  of 
self-made  men,  they  hold  on  to  their  funds  like 
grim  death,  by  George,  once  they've  got  'em. 
But  I'm  not  that  sort.  If  you  wanted  to  travel, 
you'd  just  have  to  say  the  word  and  tell  your 
maid  to  pack  up.  Now,  honest,  wouldn't  you 
like  all  that?" 

She  was  looking  at  him,  not  unkindly,  but  from 
such  a  long  distance  that  his  confident  voice 
dropped  a  little;  his  bold  blue  eyes  fell  to  the 
hand  that  still  covered  hers  on  the  chair  arm. 

"I  don't  set  up  for  a  model  of  behaviour  and 
all  that,"  he  went  on,  evidently  puzzled  by  her 
attitude.  "I  haven't  been  any  worse  than  other 
rich  men,  I  guess;  but  if  you  married  me  —  well, 
you  wouldn't  have  anything  to  complain  of.  I 
can  promise  you  that.  I  — " 

She  drew  her  hand  away.     "I  will  marry  you," 
she  interrupted.    He  was  startled,  for  the  mo- ^ 
ment  more  bewildered  than  joyful. 

"You  — mean  it?" 

She  folded  her  arms  across  her  chest,  her  gaze 
fixed  on  the  slim  point  of  her  shoe. 

230 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  don't  care  for  you,  you  know;"  she  spoke 
slowly  and  distinctly,  as  though  to  a  foreigner. 
"But  it  is  no  doubt  as  you  say  —  one  has  one's 
price.  And  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  other  way 
out.  If,  knowing  this,  you  still  want  me  - 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  pain  in  them.  But  he  answered  as  she  had 
expected. 

"I  guess  I  want  you  any  way  I  can  get  you!" 
He  bent  towards  her,  but  her  folded  arms  inex- 
plicably kept  him  back.  "You  really  mean  it? 
You  will  do  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then!"  He  kissed  her  almost  timidly 
and  returned  at  once  to  his  seat.  "You'll  like 
me  all  right  when  you're  used  to  it,"  he  asserted, 
confidence  returning  with  the  swelling  realiza- 
tion of  success.  "I'm  a  good-natured  fellow, 
you  know;  and  I'll  be  awful  proud  of  you,  Cas- 
sic.  Of  course,  I  know  I've  got  my  roughnesses 
- 1  haven 't  been  what  you  might  call  parlour- 
bred;  but  I  belong  to  two  swell  clubs,  and  they 
know  me  at  Sherry's  and  Rector's  and  all  those 
places  —  you  ought  to  see  'em  jump  when  I 
come  in.  And  I've  made  every  cent  of  my 
money  myself.  'Tisn't  such  a  bad  record  for 
a  fellow  who  started  in  at  twelve  without  a  bean 
or  a  whole  pair  of  pants,  now,  is  it?"  He  bent 

231 


OPEN    HOUSE 

towards  her  again,  taking  both  her  hands  as  they 
lay  passively  in  her  lap.  She  smiled  faintly. 

"I  don't  believe,  you  know,  that  I  shall  be 
much  comfort  to  you,"  she  said.  "I  am  spoiled, 
and  not  at  all  good-natured.  If  you  were  wise, 
you  would  run  away." 

"I  guess  not!"  He  crushed  her  hands  to- 
gether with  a  force  that  brought  a  pang  of  fear. 
She  had  never  questioned  her  power  to  dominate 
him,  to  keep  him  just  where  she  chose  to  have 
him:  through  all  their  acquaintance  he  had  been 
like  a  clumsy  tame  bear,  eager  to  obey  her  little 
rod.  What  if  he  lost  his  fear  of  her?  The 
fright  passed,  but  it  had  shaken  the  apathy  that 
had  made  this  hour  so  drearily  easy.  Premoni- 
tion of  suffering  to  come  drove  her  impatiently 
from  her  chair.  He  sat  looking  after  her  with 
a  satisfaction  that  was  still  reassuringly  humble. 

"When  will  you  do  it,  Cassie?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  any  time."  She  was  considering  whether 
it  was  worth  while  to  forbid  the  shortening  of  her 
name,  but  decided  with  a  shrug  that  it  was  not. 

"You  mean  —  soon?" 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like." 

"You're  joking!"  But  he  had  risen  to  his 
feet,  overwhelmingly  tall.  She  turned  to  the 
stairs,  not  pausing  to  look  back  until  she  was 
several  feet  above  him. 


272 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Come  with  your  motor  at  four  to-morrow  and 
you  can  take  me  away  with  you, ' '  she  said .  ' '  There 
is  a  minister  of  some  sort  in  the  next  street;  he 
will  do  well  enough." 

"Cassie!"  He  sprang  towards  her,  his  face 
flaming,  but  she  checked  him  with  a  lifted  hand. 
The  little  rod  was  still  all  powerful. 

"No;  no  more  to-day.'* 

"Oh,  just  one!  That  ain't  fair,  Cassie!  Oh, 
say!" 

She  smiled,  a  hard  little  smile,  and  shook 
her  head.  "  Good-by.  To-morrow  at  four,"  she 
said  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went  composedly 
to  her  room.  He  called  imploringly  after  her, 
but  did  not  dare  to  follow  by  so  much  as  one 
step.  Hope  that  she  would  relent  kept  him 
staring  up  at  her  door  for  a  long  time;  but  intense 
silence  had  settled  over  the  house.  Slowly  and 
reluctantly  he  turned  to  go.  Even  with  the 
front  door  open,  he  paused  to  look  back  and 
listen. 

Ronsard,  meanwhile,  had  been  disturbed  by 
lack  of  various  dishes  and  implements  which 
Ann,  in  her  heedless  table  clearing,  had  left 
marooned  on  a  side  table.  The  sound  of  a  strange 
voice  had  kept  him  from  intruding;  now  that  it 
had  ceased,  he  ventured  to  come,  with  the  cau- 
tious, sidling  tiptoe  of  one  in  fear  of  a  lady's 

233 


OPEN    HOUSE 

train  just  ahead,  to  the  open  door  of  the  great 
hall  and  peer  in,  a  bow  of  apology  tremulously 
ready.  Burnett  had  just  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old for  a  last  look  back;  the  light  falling  on  his 
upturned  face  brought  out  sharply  the  remains 
of  good  looks  above  the  straight  sweep  of  his 
heavy  moustache;  his  hard  blue  eyes  were  for  the 
moment  almost  boyish. 

Ronsard  stood  unseen  and  motionless,  one 
hand  blindly  extended,  a  look  of  terror  on  his 
gaunt  face.  When  Burnett  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  he  Stole  swiftly  to  a  window  and 
watched  him  mount  his  car  and  ride  away.  The 
bony  fingers  clutching  the  old  man's  jaw  shook; 
his  dim  eyes  had  shown  a  flicker  of  his  ancient 
Gallic  fire,  but  it  burned  away  into  helpless  dis- 
tress. 

"Emilie,  Emilie,"  he  whispered  brokenly,  and 
groped  his  way  back  as  though  the  room  had 
suddenly  darkened. 

As  soon  as  the  motor  had  disappeared,  Cas- 
sandra set  out  feverishly  for  a  walk,  trying  to 
deaden  with  weariness  faculties  that  were  showing 
terrifying  signs  of  waking  up.  It  was  late  when 
she  came  back,  but  all  her  miles  of  tramping  had 
not  done  for  her  what  was  wrought  by  the  sight 
of  Caspar  and  Ann  walking  together  in  the  gar- 
den. 

234 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"After  all,  what  else  is  there?"  she  asked  with 
a  sudden  return  to  apathy  as  she  entered  the 
great  hall  and  dropped  down  into  the  nearest 
chair. 

"If  I  might  speak  to  mademoiselle?"  Ron- 
sard,  who  had  evidently  been  watching  for  her, 
was  hovering  in  the  doorway,  one  hand  bent 
nervously  over  the  other,  his  white  head  defer- 
entially dropped. 

"Come  in,  Ronsard;"  her  rapid  voice  always 
took  on  a  shade  of  warmth  in  speaking  to  the 
chef.  He  stood  hesitating  before  her. 

"I  am  an  old  man,"  he  began  tremulously. 
"Mademoiselle  will  forgive  if  I  take  a  liberty. 
The  visitor  that  came  to-day  —  I  chanced  to 
see  him." 

"Well?" 

"I  have  seen  that  gentleman  before,  years 
ago.  I  am  only  the  chef,  I  have  no  right  to 
speak;"  his  distressed  eyes  mutely  begged  her 
pardon;  "but  mademoiselle  has  no  one  to  warn 
her,  and  — "  his  voice  broke  and  he  wrung  his 
hands.  "Ah,  what  can  I  do?"  he  muttered. 

"You  mean  that  you  know  something  about 
Mr.  Burnett?"  The  warmth  had  left  her  voice, 
but  it  was  not  unfriendly.  He  caught  eagerly 
at  her  help. 

"Ah,   my   God,   yes!    There  are   things  that 
235 


OPEN    HOUSE 

may  not  be  told  to  a  young  lady;  but  if  I  might 
be  permitted  to  speak  a  warning,  I  who  know— 

She  rose.  "I  think  I  understand,  Ronsard, 
and  I  appreciate  it.  I  really  believe,  you  know, 
that  you  are  fond  of  me."  She  let  her  hand 
touch  his  sleeve,  then  turned  to  go.  "But  I 
can't  let  you  talk  about  Mr.  Burnett." 

He  took  an  eager  step  after  her.  "I  will  say 
nothing.  But  there  are  dangers  —  mademoi- 
selle will  at  least  not  go  out  with  him?"  She 
smiled. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  —  going  out  with  him  to- 
morrow afternoon,"  she  answered. 

"Ah,  no!"  His  lifted  hands  were  eloquent  of 
despair.  "Mademoiselle  has  no  knowledge  - 

"That  will  do,  Ronsard."  And  Cassandra 
went  away,  leaving  the  old  man  stricken  help- 
lessly dumb  in  the  attitude  of  imploring  speech. 


236 


X 

THE  evening  dragged  past,  the  next  day's  work 
began,  and  still  Cassandra  had  not  told  Dr.  Di- 
man.  Neither  by  word  nor  look  had  he  so  much 
as  implied  a  question  since  Burnett  left.  She  had 
warned  him  that  she  would  accept  the  man,  but 
he  could  have  no  suspicion  that  this  was  to  be 
her  wedding  day;  and  she  could  not  tell  him. 

Towards  noon  Miss  Snell,  shattered  and  trem- 
ulous, crept  down  the  stairs  on  Ann's  arm.  She 
had  been  told  the  truth  about  the  flowers  and 
their  ardent  message,  but  no  one  seemed  to  con- 
nect the  incident  with  her  break-down,  a  saving 
of  her  pride  that  did  much  towards  setting  her 
on  her  feet  again.  Dr.  Diman  had  also  let  fall, 
in  quite  another  connection,  that  the  librarian  in 
the  Sciences  and  Religions  room  was  named 
Haines,  not  Barnes. 

"I  ran  across  him  the  other  day,  and  knew  it 
the  minute  I  saw  him,"  he  added.  He  had 
guessed  that  Miss  Snell  connected  the  bald-headed, 
shuffling  little  man  with  the  mysterious  offering, 
but  the  idea  did  not  amuse  him;  it  only  made 
his  eyes  warmly  sorry. 

237 


OPEN    HOUSE 

The  knowledge  that  she  had  been  unjust  drove 
the  invalid  to  a  pinched,  unwilling,  "Good  morn- 
ing, Miss  Joyce."  Cassandra  responded  readily. 
The  days  when  it  was  worth  while  to  fight  with 
Miss  Snell  seemed  very  remote.  She  even  picked 
up  a  cushion  that  slipped  from  under  Ann's 
elbow  and  followed  with  it  to  the  garden,  having 
an  unacknowledged  longing  that  her  last  day 
might  not  seem  ill-spent  in  her  employer's  eyes. 
The  knowledge  that  she  was  going  back  to  ease 
and  splendour  was  but  dust  and  ashes  to  her 
spirit.  Her  way  of  life  had  bred  in  her  no  gen- 
eral, theoretic  condemnation  of  loveless  mar- 
riage: she  did  not  despise  herself  for  the  course 
she  was  taking  —  indeed,  it  seemed  to  her  tra- 
ditions drearily  right.  Yet  shame,  a  new  and 
intolerable  anguish,  was  sweeping  about  her  like 
a  prairie  fire.  The  hours  of  the  day  were  mill- 
stones grinding  her  heart  between  them. 

She  had  finished  her  packing  in  the  night,  so 
after  lunch  she  could  go  quietly  on  with  her  work. 
Caspar's  eyes  searched  her  colourless  face  more 
than  once,  but  her  dogged  industry  seemed  an 
intentional  barrier  between  them,  and  he  went 
out  without  speaking.  She  managed  to  move  so 
that  she  could  look  after  him  from  the  window. 
She  might  never  see  him  again. 

It  was  a  grey,   wind-swept  afternoon,   chilly 
238 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  cheerless.  Dust  was  whirling  in  from  the 
street,  and  the  weather-vanes  pointed  to  coming 
rain.  Hattie,  laden  with  pail  and  cloths,  paused 
by  Cassandra's  chair  to  look  out. 

"Nice  day  for  washin'  the  windows,"  she  ob- 
served. Voluntary  speech  from  her  was  so  unusual 
that  Cassandra  felt  constrained  to  answer. 

"Why  don't  you  put  it  off?"  she  suggested. 

"Take  too  much  jaw,"  was  the  concise  answer. 
"She's  set  on  having  'em  done  to-day.  Have  to 
do  'em  over  again  to-morrow,  that's  all."  Thump- 
ing down  her  pail,  she  fell  to  work.  "I  told  that 
Frenchman  he'd  have  to  answer  the  door,"  she 
added.  "I  can't  do  everything  at  once." 

The  wind  from  the  opened  window  blew  un- 
pleasantly on  Cassandra,  and  she  had  risen  to 
find  another  seat  when  the  sound  of  a  motor 
brought  her  to  a  terrified  pause.  It  was  not  at 
the  front  gate,  but  was  coming  in  by  the  carriage 
drive  at  the  side  to  the  verandah  steps.  Patients 
often  arrived  in  motors,  and  Burnett  was  not  due 
for  two  hours;  yet  fright  ran  away  with  her. 
She  found  herself  up  in  her  own  room  before  she 
realized  that  she  had  fled. 

Ronsard,  fumbling  with  haste,  opened  the  glass 
doors  to  a  professional-looking  young  man  in 
leather  and  bowed  him  into  the  room  with  a 
deference  that  drew  a  silent  snort  from  Hattie. 

239 


OPEN    HOUSE 

The  man  produced  a  package  and  a  letter  for 
Miss  Joyce,  and  explained  that  he  was  to  get  an 
answer. 

"But  most  certainly  —  assuredly!  If  monsieur 
will  sit  down,  I  will  attend  to  it  at  once!"  Ron- 
sard  was  quite  breathless  with  obligingness  when 
he  opened  Cassandra's  door. 

She  saw  the  writing  on  the  letter  and  her  hand 
shook  as  she  took  it. 

"Is  Mr.  Burnett  himself  down  there?"  she 
asked  sharply. 

Until  she  spoke,  Ronsard's  blurred  memory 
had  forgotten  the  day  before.  Now  it  all  came 
back  to  him,  and  a  look  of  haggard  distress 
deepened  his  eyes. 

"No;  it  is  a  young  man,"  he  stammered.  "No 
doubt,  his  chauffeur  - 

She  nodded  in  obvious  relief  and  broke  open 
the  letter,  but  he  still  hovered  unhappily  before 
her. 

"Perhaps  he  is  not  coming  to  take  mademoi- 
selle out  to-day?"  he  ventured  very  softly. 

"I  fear  he  is,"  she  returned  with  a  brief  smile. 
"You  may  come  back  in  ten  minutes  for  my 
answer."  , 

He  retreate4  as  far  as  the  door,  then  halted  in 
desperation. 

"Mademoiselle  will  never  forgive  me;  but  has 
240 


OPEN    HOUSE 

she  spoken  with  the  docteur  about  —  about  this 
going  out  — "  He  was  nerved  for  annihilation, 
but  she  answered  with  unexpected  patience. 

"Not  yet." 

"Ah,  then  — but  she  will  talk  to  him  first?" 
He  took  a  pleading  step  towards  her.  "But 
that  one  thing — ?" 

"I  shall  be  gone  before  he  gets  back,  Ronsard. 
He  won't  be  home  till  after  four  to-day." 

"But  Mr.  Burnett  may  be  delayed;"  he  spoke 
eagerly.  "These  machines  —  they  are  always 
delayed!  He  must  take  it  on  the  ferry,  where, 
look,  there  are  nails,  there  are  twenty  ways  of 
injury  to  the  tyre,  to  the  machinery!"  The  old 
man  was  tremulous  with  the  excitement  of  his 
appeal.  "So  he  must  stop  to  mend  it  —  is  it 
not  so  ?  And  then,  with  the  docteur  at  home  — 
ah,  mademoiselle  will  consult  him,  just  to  quiet 
the  heart  of  old  Ronsard?  The  docteur  knows 
the  world;  he  can  do  anything." 

"Yes;  if  he  is  home  before  I  go,  I  will  —  tell 
him;"  she  made  the  promise  more  to  herself  than 
to  him,  and  gave  him  little  thought  as  he  hurried 
off. 

More  than  ten  minutes  were  spent  on  the  answer 
to  Burnett's  note. 

"  DEAREST  CASSIE,"  he  had  written.  "  I  am  sending  you  a 
wedding  present.  It  was  the  best  thing  they  had  in  Tiffany's, 

241 


OPEN    HOUSE 

but  it  isn't  half  good  enough.  Send  me  a  line  to  say  you  haven't 
forgotten  four  o'clock  this  afternoon. 

"  Yours  always,  t(  Q   fi  „ 

Before  her,  in  its  case,  lay  a  blazing  diamond 
necklace.  She  glanced  absently  at  it  once  or 
twice,  then,  with  a  frown,  closed  the  case  and 
pushed  it  away.  "I  am  expecting  you  at  four," 
was  finally  all  that  she  wrote.  As  Ronsard  did 
not  come  back,  she  took  it  down  herself.  Below, 
the  chauffeur  was  chaffing  Hattie,  who,  rubbing 
stolidly  at  a  window,  was  giving  back  an  occa- 
sional sledge-hammer  of  speech  without  troubling 
to  turn  her  head.  Returning  to  his  car,  he 
found  the  old  Frenchman  hovering  about  it.  His 
eyes  had  an  excited  glitter,  but  he  bowed  with 
wonderful  suavity. 

"Monsieur  has  a  very  fine  machine  here.  I 
take  the  liberty  to  admire  it,"  he  announced. 

"Good  car,"  the  other  assented,  swinging  into 
his  seat.  Then,  noticing  that  the  chef's  coat  and 
cap  had  been  replaced  by  outdoor  garments,  he 
made  a  patronizing  offer  of  a  lift. 

"If  monsieur  is  passing  the  station  — ?  I  am 
a  moment  late."  At  a  nod  of  assent,  Ronsard 
mounted  with  the  agility  of  younger  days.  The 
usual  haziness  of  his  sunken  eyes  was  swept  away 
by  some  burning  purpose. 

An  hour  later  Cassandra  set  her  desk  in  order 
242 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  went  up  to  her  room  to  put  the  last  things 
into  trunk  and  bag.  Her  mood  made  her  choose 
her  plainest  suit  and  an  unadorned  linen  shirt. 
She  looked  no  less  handsome  than  usual,  but  a 
little  more  formidable,  as  she  pinned  her  veil  and 
pulled  on  her  gloves.  Her  final  glance  in  the 
mirror  was  as  straight  as  the  line  of  her  lips. 

As  the  clock  struck  four,  there  was  a  light 
knock.  She  stood  motionless  until  it  was  re- 
peated, a  little  louder,  then  she  composedly 
crossed  the  room  and  opened  the  door.  The  firm 
"I  will  be  right  down,"  stopped  at  her  lips  when 
she  saw  Dr.  Diman  in  place  of  the  expected 
Hattie. 

"Oh,  Miss  Joyce,  can  you  come  and  — 
He  got  so  far  before  he  realized  her  street  attire; 
then  his  glance  passed  her  to  a  strapped  trunk 
and  a  bag  lying  beside  it.  "You  are  —  going 
away?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause  that  set  her  heart 
beating  heavily. 

"Yes." 

"With—?" 

"Yes.    I  told  him  I  would  marry  him  to-day." 

His  face  showed  a  curious  change.  Not  a 
muscle  flinched,  the  eyes  were  as  gravely  im- 
personal as  ever;  yet  the  colour  slowly  receded 
until  a  ghastly  grey-white  had  replaced  the  usual 
ruddy  brown.  She  had  seen  colour  change  often 

243 


OPEN    HOUSE 

enough  before,  but  never  so  inexorably,  with 
such  deadly  composure.  It  made  her  feel  a  little 
sick  —  as  though  she  had  witnessed  an  appall- 
ing accident.  She  was  too  hard  pressed,  just 
then,  keeping  her  own  brave  front  to  wonder 
why  he  should  suffer. 

"When  do  you  expect  him?"  His  voice  was 
wholly  controlled,  and  she  strung  herself  to  answer 
in  the  same  key. 

"Now  —  about  four  o'clock.  I  will  send  back 
for  my  trunks  when  I  know  my  address." 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"No,  thank  you.  I  was  planning  to  —  write 
you  a  note.  I  am  not  so  unappreciative  as  I 
-  seem." 

"Yes  —  that  is  all  right.  I  understand."  He 
held  out  his  hand.  "If  you  ever  do  need  a 
friend  — " 

She  clung  to  it  rather  than  shook  it.  "What 
were  you  going  to  ask  me  to  do?" 

"Oh,  nothing  of  any  importance.  Simply  to 
read  some  proofs  with  me.  They  can  - 

"I  should  like  to  do  it.  Motors  are  so  often 
late,  and  I  am  all  ready.  Please  let  me." 

"If  you  are  sure  — " 

"Please." 

She  led  the  way  down-stairs,  drawing  off  her 
gloves  and  turning  her  veil  back  over  her  hat. 

244 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Proofs  for  the  new  edition  of  his  book  on  nervous 
diseases  lay  on  the  table.  He  drew  up  a  chair 
for  her  and  gave  her  a  typewritten  manuscript 
to  read  from,  following  with  suspended  pen 
down  the  printed  slips.  The  sunny  silence  of 
the  great  house  was 'unbroken;  the  clock  ticked 
of  peace  and  orderly  leisure.  Half  an  hour  had 
slipped  past  when  down  the  quiet  street  the  horn 
of  a  motor  sounded.  Cassandra's  voice  faltered, 
then  went  on.  The  horn  blew  again,  almost  at 
the  gate.  Caspar  lifted  his  head,  but  she  kept 
her  eyes  on  the  page  and  ploughed  steadily  ahead. 
The  horn  sounded  a  third  time,  but  more  faintly. 
The  car  had  whirred  past. 

"Would  you  mind  repeating  that  last  para- 
graph?" said  Caspar. 

Five  came,  and  half  past;  then  six. 

"Your  voice  is  tired.  You  must  stop."  His 
normal  colour  had  returned  long  ago,  yet  he  looked 
indefinably  haggard.  The  past  two  hours  had 
left  their  more  legible  mark  on  Cassandra;  there 
were  bluish  shadows  under  her  eyes.  She  faced 
the  situation  with  her  characteristic  directness. 

"I  suppose  the  machine  broke  down;  but  it  is 
odd  that  I  don't  get  a  message." 

"There  was  no  chance  for  misunderstanding 
about  the  time,  or  the  day?" 

"None,  whatever." 

2-l5 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Ah,  well,  there  will  be  some  perfectly  simple 
explanation."  The  reassuring  intention  of  his 
voice  brought  a  dry  smile. 

"I  am  not  afraid  that  he  has  changed  his  mind! 
No  such-  '  she  stopped  abruptly.  "I  might 
as  well  go  and  take  my  hat  off,  however.  You 
will  probably  have  to  keep  me  for  dinner." 

"Well,  I  must  say!  If  it  isn't  too  exactly 
like — !"  Miss  Myrtle's  harassed  voice  preceded 
her  as  she  came  confusedly  down  with  her  usual 
air  of  pursuing  an  escaping  soul.  "Hattie  has 
just  this  moment  told  me  that  Ronsard  has  dis- 
appeared. Dinner  isn't  touched,  of  course.  He 
has  been  gone  all  the  afternoon.  I  do  think 
this  expecting  to  get  work  done  by  lunatics  and 
maniacs  -  Her  broken  sentences  trailed  after 
her  as  she  made  for  the  kitchen,  tugging  ineffec- 
tually at  the  fastening  of  a  stiff  cuff. 

"Poor  old  Myrtle!"  said  Caspar  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"Ah,  poor  old  everybody!"  Cassandra  echoed 
passionately,  and  the  straight  line  of  her  lips 
quivered.  She  went  swiftly  to  her  room. 

Caspar,  after  looking  in  Ronsard's  room  and 
about  the  garden,  strolled  down  to  the  gate. 
Stragglers  from  the  last  train  were  still  passing, 
and  presently  he  saw  the  old  chef,  coming  vaguely, 
as  though  it  was  his  feet  and  not  his  worn  brain 

246 


OPEN    HOUSE 

that  remembered  the  way.  He  stared  blankly 
at  the  doctor,  his  eyes  so  blind  and  distressed 
that  Caspar  feared  the  end  of  intelligence  had 
come.  Then  his  face  lighted  touchingly. 

"Ah,  monsieur  is  at  home!    Then  all  will  be 
well,"  he  said  with  weary  relief. 

"Where  have  you  been?  To  town?" 
"I  think  it  was  to  the  ferry."  He  put  his  hands 
to  his  head  in  a  confused  effort  at  memory.  "I 
am  an  old  man  —  I  forget.  It  was  necessary  to 
wait  and  wait — and  then  I  think  I  took  a  wrong 
train  —  there  was  something  —  but  the  docteur  is 
at  home,"  he  added,  going  back  to  his  simple  relief. 
"Perhaps  you  will  remember  after  dinner." 
The  last  word  awoke  him  sharply  to  the  pres- 
ent. "Ah,  my  God,  the  dinner!"  He  fled  to  the 
house,  appearing  breathless  with  apologies  be- 
fore Miss  Myrtle  could  do  more  than  poke  dis- 
tressfully at  the  fire  and  jerk  open  various  drawers 
and  cupboards;  but  his  haste  seemed  wholly  to 
have  upset  what  little  head  the  day  had  left  him. 
Dinner  was  a  strangely  conglomerate  meal; 
vegetable  dishes,  carefully  heated  and  covered, 
were  found  to  contain  nothing  whatever,  salt  and 
pepper  were  trebled  in  one  place  and  omitted 
everywhere  else,  and  the  sauce  for  the  pudding 
tried  to  take  the  place  of  the  gravy,  with  inde- 
scribable results.  Miss  Myrtle  almost  cried. 

247 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"Nobody  knows  what  I  go  through,"  she 
lamented.  "Though  I  am  used  to  it,  and  can 
manage  better  than  anyone  else  could,"  she  added 
with  a  hasty  glance  at  her  brother. 

"I  am  sure  you  do,  Myrtle,"  he  assented  with 
unexpected  cordiality  as  they  rose  from  the 
table. 

Ann  Blossom,  still  resolutely  cheerful,  followed 
Miss  Snell  up-stairs  with  a  book.  Cassandra 
turned  expectantly  to  the  proofs;  then  saw  that 
Caspar  had  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  you  are  not  going  out?"  Her  voice  was 
more  revealing  than  she  knew.  He  looked  at 
her  with  troubled  eyes. 

"I  have  a  medical  meeting." 

"And  you  must  go  to  it?" 

"I  am  supposed  to  speak." 

"Oh,  I  can't  wait  here  alone!  And  I  may 
never  see  you  again.  It  is  all  so  dreadful!" 
broke  from  her. 

"You  think  —  he  is  coming?" 

"Of  course  he  is  coming!  And  to  sit  here 
waiting-  Her  hands  were  pressed  feverishly 
against  her  cheeks  and  she  looked  out  from  be- 
tween them  in  open  misery.  "You  must  help 
me!" 

Many  women  had  cried  "Help  me!"  to  Caspar 
Diman,  and  found  help,  even  when  there  was  no 

248 


OPEN    HOUSE 

help  to  be  given,  in  the  compassionate  response 
of  his  whole  being  to  the  appeal.  Yet  not  one  of 
them  had  seen  such  an  answer  as  Cassandra 
would  have  read  in  his  face  had  her  sight  not 
been  blurred  by  sudden  tears.  She  fought  her 
way  back  to  self-control,  conscious  that  he  was 
telephoning  to  one  and  another,  making  arrange- 
ments for  a  substitute  speaker.  Ten  minutes 
later  he  took  the  chair  beside  her  and  picked  up 
the  proofs. 

"Skip  the  next  four  pages,"  he  said.  "They 
are  coming  out." 

"You  mean  this  about  the  case  of  Miss  S?" 

"Yes." 

An  unwelcome  idea,  suggested  by  a  sentence 
of  the  text,  made  her  ask  sharply,  "Why?" 

"Because  I  shall  have  to  wait  a  little  longer  to 
prove  that  I  was  right  about  that  case.  I  know 
I  am,  but  the  facts  just  now  don't  warrant  my 
saying  so." 

"It  is  Miss  Snell,"  said  Cassandra,  "and  I 
have  spoiled  it  for  you." 

"Perhaps  not.  She  had  not  been  quite  so 
well  lately,  anyway.  I  noticed  it  before  this 
happened." 

"That  was  probably  because  I  quarrelled  with 
her  and  teased  her.  I  did,  very  often."  Cas- 
sandra spoke  baldly,  as  if  it  were  all  too  remote 

249 


OPEN    HOUSE 

to  matter  much/   "I  would  try  to  make  it  up  if 
I  were  not  —  going,"  she  added. 

She  began  to  read  at  once,  listening  tensely 
for  a  sound  in  the  street.  She  believed  at  first 
that  she  was  impatient  to*  have  Burnett  come  and 
"get  it  over  with.;"  but  a  sudden  peal  at  the  door- 
bell undeceived  her.  It  was  her  first  encounter 
with  genuine  panic  terror;  and  it  left  her  shaken 
beyond  possibility  of  concealment.  Caspar,  when 
he  turned  from  directing  the  stranger  at  the  door, 
found  the  manuscript  strewing  the  rug  and  Cas- 
sandra, white  and  shaking,  clinging  to  the  back 
of  a  chair.  His  own  startled  nerves  found  relief 
in  anger. 

"Cassandra,  why  do  you  do  this  thing?"  he 
demanded  hotly.  It  was  the  best  possible  tone 
to  steady  her;  her  spirit,  momentarily  crushed, 
rose  to  the  encounter. 

"What  else  can  I  do?    I  must  leave  here." 

"Why?" 

She  could  not  tell  him  the  main  reason.  "Be- 
cause I  fail,  fail!  I  do  only  harm.  Besides,  you 
don't  need  me." 

"What  harm  do  you  refer  to?" 

"Miss  Snell.  I  have  undone  all  your  work 
with  her.  I  didn't  know  what  it  all  meant,  your 
care  for  her,  till  now,  reading  this  book.  I  have 
been  an  ignorant  fool." 

250 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"You  had  to  learn,  my  poor  child." 

"You  don't  want  me  to  stay  —  you  know  it." 
The  impulse  to  test  him  rose  overwhelmingly. 
"You  have  your  Ann  Blossom."  She  tried  to 
say  it  lightly,  but  a  quiver  of  resentment  betrayed 
itself.  He  looked  amazed. 

"What  on  earth  has  Ann  Blossom  to  do  with 
you  or  your  work?  Besides,  she  will  leave  in 
the  fall." 

"You  are  not— -"  the  impetuous  question 
faltered. 

"I  am  not  — ?"  he  insisted. 

She  knelt  down  to  gather  up  the  scattered 
pages.  "Oh,  nothing.  But  I  happened  to  see 
her  —  in  your  arms  —  the  other  night,  and  I 
naturally  — " 

The  charge  did  not  seem  to  disturb  him.  "So 
she  was,  poor  little  soul!  Can  you  see  only  one 
meaning  to  an  act  of  affection  between  a  man 
and  a  woman?"  She  would  not  answer  or  look 
up,  so  he  sat  down  very  close  to  where  she  knelt. 
"My  dear  girl,  you  can't  marry  this  man!" 

"But  I  said  I  would!" 

"That  is  a  pity,  but  it  cannot  be  helped.  If 
you  had  seen  your  face,  you  poor  child."  He 
took  one  of  her  cold  hands  and  began  to  rub  it 
between  his. 

"Perhaps  he  really  isn't  coming."  She  looked 
251 


OPEN    HOUSE 

up,  the  colour  and  freshness  marvellously  restored 
to  her  face.  "I  ought  to  feel  ashamed  and  dis- 
graced, shouldn  't  I  ?  But  I  am  only  so  glad  and 
relieved."  She  gave  him  her  other  hand,  still 
half  kneeling  at  his  feet.  "But  what  can  I  do 
if  I  stay?  How  can  I  really  help  you?" 

"Really  help  me?"  he  repeated,  with  little 
attention  to  spare  for  the  words:  both  were  living 
wholly  in  the  clasped  hands  which  their  eyes  so 
persistently  ignored. 

"Yes.  I  don't  want  to  be  just  a  derelict.  You 
say  I  have  brains;  why  don't  you  make  some 
real  use  of  them?" 

He  forced  his  attention  to  the  subject  and  medi- 
tated in  smiling  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  pressed  her  hands  together,  laid  them  gently 
back  in  her  lap,  and  went  into  his  office,  returning 
with  two  desk  drawers  and  a  cigar  box  in  his 
hands.  They  were  strewn  with  papers,  but  when 
these  were  lifted  out,  an  amazing  quantity  of 
greenbacks,  chiefly  in  crumpled  wads,  was  un- 
covered. 

"Look  at  them!"  he  exclaimed  in  humorous 
contempt.  "Isn't  that  a  way  to  do  business? 
You  have  heard  my  sister  say  a  great  many  times 
that  I  could  be  a  rich  man  if  I  would  take  the 
trouble."  He  stood  up,  his  hands  rammed  into 
his  pockets.  "Well,  it  is  quite  true.  I  forget 

252 


OPEN    HOUSE 

to  send  out  my  bills  or  to  collect  them,  and  I 
can't  seem  to  bother  about  investments.  I  have 
not  cared  before,  but  lately  it  has  been  growing 
on  me  that  I  want  to  be  rich." 

"Why?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Because  then  I  could  reach  more  people,  do 
more  for  them.  I  want  to  put  a  big  ell  on  this 
house  and  make  an  informal  sanitorium  of  it, 
so  that  I  can  have  more  of  my  patients  under  my 
daily  care.  I  want  some  expensive  equipment 
and  a  capable  nurse  at  the  head.  Oh,  I  have 
any  number  of  plans;  but  someone  has  got  to  be 
my  business  manager  —  I  am  simply  incapable 
of  finance.  Why  not  you?" 

She  was  looking  up  eagerly.  "Do  you  really 
think  I  could?" 

"I  know  it.  Here  is  my  bank  book;  deposit 
all  that  and  get  it  balanced  to-morrow.  Then  I 
will  turn  over  to  you  my  papers,  if  I  can  find 
'em.  There's  an  empty  house  or  two  you  might 
look  over;  they  could  be  rented  if  they  were 
fixed  up.  And  there  is  any  quantity  of  money 
owing  me.  We  will  get  at  it  in  the  morning,  and 
then  I  never  want  to  hear  about  it  again.  Find 
a  legal  or  a  business  adviser,  if  you  like,  but  don't 
expect  any  help  from  me." 

"Oh,  I  think  that  will  be  simply  splendid!" 
All  the  latent  capability  of  her  nature  rose  to  the 

253 


OPEN    HOUSE 

appeal.  "And  when  you  can  afford  the  ell,  I 
will  have  it  built  —  I  learned  to  bully  architects 
when  I  was  seventeen.  And  by  and  by  we  will 
build  you  a  little  house  down  in  one  corner  of 
the  garden,  so  that  you  can  have  your  free  time 
to  yourself  and  write  more  books  and  get  so  rich 
and  famous  that — '  She  broke  into  a  laugh, 
quite  the  youngest  sound  that  he  had  ever  heard 
from  her.  "Oh,  I  shall  like  this!"  She  feU  to 
smoothing  and  counting  the  money,  while  Caspar 
made  a  rough  sketch  of  his  proposed  sanitorium. 
Her  interests  in  its  details  surprised  him. 

"You  don't  really  care  about  my  derelicts," 
he  objected. 

"No;  but  I  like  to  have  you  cure  them  when 
other  doctors  can't,"  she  said  frankly.  "I  do 
respect  your  work,  you  know.  And  I  want  you 
to  be  so  famous  that  they  will  come  from  all 
over  the  country  to  you.  I  like  success!" 

He  laughed  at  her,  but  did  not  argue  the  point. 
"How  much  have  I  there  —  several  hundred 
dollars?" 

"Very  nearly  two  thousand,"  was  the  severe 
answer.  "I  should  say  you  did  need  a  business 
manager!" 

They  had  a  very  happy  time  over  their  plans. 
Burnett  was  forgotten ;  he  evidently  was  not  com- 
ing that  night,  and  the  morrow  could  take  care  of 

254 


OPEN    HOUSE 

itself.  Relief  from  suspense,  and  the  conviction 
that,  however  little  Caspar  might  care  for  her,  he 
was  not  in  love  with  Ann  Blossom,  set  free  in 
Cassandra  a  fiery  exultation  that  dazzled  the  man, 
but  presently  troubled  the  doctor.  He  took  papers 
and  bills  away  from  her  and  drew  her  to  her  feet. 

"You  must  go  to  bed,"  he  told  her.  "And  I 
will  give  you  some  trional  to  take  up  with  you  in 
case  you  can't  sleep." 

"I  don't  want  to  sleep!" 

"But  I  want  you  to;"  an  answer  which  Cas- 
sandra, the  imperious,  found  inexpressibly  dear 
and  satisfying. 

When  she  had  gone,  Caspar  sat  as  he  had  so 
often  sat,  these  past  weeks,  with  head  thrown  back 
and  eyes  lifted  towards  the  door  of  the  southeast 
chamber.  His  face  was  dreamily  inscrutable, 
but  his  intense  bodily  stillness  did  not  suggest 
passivity;  it  was  rather  the  stillness  of  one  dazed 
by  a  vision. 

The  striking  of  a  clock,  an  hour  later,  roused 
him.  He  looked  about  as  though  startled  to 
find  his  surroundings  unchanged,  and  pushed  a 
hand  up  through  his  rough,  heavy  hair  to  waken 
himself  more  clearly  to  the  present.  A  step  on 
the  gravel  outside  suggested  Ernest,  and  he 
threw  open  the  front  door  in  hospitable  welcome, 
but  was  confronted  by  a  stranger,  a  little,  grey, 

255 


OPEN    HOUSE 

clerkly  man  with  a  manner  of  patient  precision. 
He  held  a  much-sealed  package  under  one  arm 
and  read  from  the  address  of  a  letter: 

"Miss  Cassandra  Joyce, care  of  Dr.  C.  Diman?" 

"Yes,  she  is  here,  but  she  has  gone  to  bed." 
Caspar  motioned  him  in.  "Can  you  leave  it 
with  me?" 

The  man  regretted  with  dry  courtesy  that  he 
must  disturb  the  young  lady.  There  was.  no 
answer,  but  he  must  execute  his  commission  with 
her  in  person  and  receive  her  signature.  Caspar 
heard  her  frightened  start  at  his  knock,  and  spoke 
reassuringly  through  the  door,  then  went  down- 
stairs, leaving  the  messenger  to  transact  his  busi- 
ness. A  few  moments  later  the  man  passed  out 
with  body  deferentially  bent,  closing  the  door 
noiselessly  behind  him. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Cassandra's  door 
opened  again,  so  long  that  Caspar  had  begun  to 
wonder  if  his  conviction  that  she  would  come  to 
him  were  not  a  foolish  delusion.  She  was  still 
in  the  kimono  that  she  had  thrown  about  her, 
and  above  her  slippers  there  was  a  gleam  of  bare 
ankles,  but  she  was  as  unconscious  of  these  as 
she  was  of  the  great  brown  braid  that  fell  heavily 
across  one  shoulder.  Her  face  was  not  exactly 
frightened,  but  something  in  it  impelled  him 
towards  her  with  a  half- suppressed, 

256 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"My  dear  girl!  — What  is  it?"  he  added. 

The  seals  of  the  package  she  held  were  still 
unbroken,  but  she  silently  offered  him  the  letter 
and  dropped  into  a  chair  with  averted  face.  For 
a  moment  his  eyes  could  not  leave  her  splendid 
youth;  then  he  turned  up  the  lamp  and  sat  down 
on  the  far  side  of  the  table. 

The  letter  was  written-  in  an  odd,  straggling 
fashion,  the  lines  running  at  chance  angles,  but 
the  words  painstakingly  legible: 

DEAREST  CASSIE,  — 

It's  all  up  with  me.  Auto  smash  —  you'll  see  it  all  O.K. 
in  papers,  except  that  tyre  didn't  burst  —  it  was  cut.  Some 
devil  must  have  carved  it  on  the  ferry  boat.  Neat  job  —  held 
till  we  got  under  full  speed.  Not  suffering  to  speak  of,  but 
they're  going  to  take  my  leg  off  presently,  and  my  heart  has 
been  rather  bum  of  late  years,  so  I  guess  —  they  think  so,  too. 

Cassie,  I  don't  want  you  to  appear  in  my  will  —  can't  bear 
to  have  you  mixed  up  with  the  various  widows  that  will  be 
hustling  for  cr£pe  when  they  see  the  morning  papers.  (All 
liars.)  Besides,  I've  got  a  sister  that  would  put  up  a  fight, 
and  you're  too  good  to  be  mixed  up  in  that;  so  I  have  signed 
some  things  over  to  you,  and  my  sec.  is  raking  together  all 
the  portable  property  he  can  lay  hands  on,  to  bring  out  to  you 
to-night  —  don't  mind  him,  he's  a  grey  rat  for  secrecy.  Could 
do  better  by  you  with  more  time,  but  it's  a  decent  little  fortune 
and  will  take  you  out  of  that  House  of  Correction.  Makes  me 
boil  now  to  think  of  you  there.  It  was  the  real  thing  with 
me,  Cassie,  and  losing  you  now  is  pretty  awful.  But  I  guess 
you'll  be  sort  of  relieved. 

Good-by,  my  girl.     God  bless  you. 

G.  B. 

257 


OPEN    HOUSE 

Enclosed  with  the  letter  was  a  typewritten  list 
of  deeds  and  securities,  the  contents  of  the  sealed 
package.  Across  the  foot  of  this  was  written  in 
a  wooden,  clerical  hand:  "Mr.  Burnett  passed 
away  at  9.13  while  under  the  influence  of  ether." 

Caspar  folded  the  papers,  replaced  them  in  the 
envelope,  and  rose.  As  she  made  no  motion  to 
take  it  from  him,  he  laid  it  on  her  knee. 

"Well,  now  you  are  free  to  go  back  to  your  own 
world,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  bald  commonplace. 
Her  head  seemed  too  heavy  to  lift;  she  did  not 
look  at  him. 

"  Yes;  now  I  am  free  to  go  back,"  she  assented, 
dragging  herself  to  her  feet.  At  her  door  she 
paused,  half  turning,  but  Caspar  had  gone  to 
lock  up, 


XI 

ANN  BLOSSOM  slept  very  little  that  night.  Her 
resolute  cheerfulness  always  went  out  like  a 
blown  candle  when  she  closed  the  door  of  her 
room,  and  every  night  it  seemed  to  her  that  by 
no  strength  of  will  could  she  ever  light  it  again. 
She  had  watched  feverishly  all  day  for  Ernest's 
return,  but  he  had  not  come  or  sent  word  —  sent 
word  to  her,  at  least ;  that  big,  handsome,  remorse- 
less girl  who  had  driven  him  away  might  have 
heard.  Ann  writhed  with  anger  at  the  thought, 
yet  it  was  a  helpless  anger,  such  as  a  heathen 
might  have  felt  against  heathen  gods.  Cassandra 
stood  for  a  power  that  must  inevitably  brush  aside 
any  frail  Ann  Blossom. 

Soon  after  dawn  she  dressed  and  went  softly 
down-stairs,  impatient  for  the  relief  of  bodily 
movement.  A  radiant  morning  wras  waiting  to 
pour  in  at  doors  and  windows  as  she  opened 
them,  and  a  breath  of  hope  seemed  to  follow  the 
sunny  tide. 

"Things  sometimes  come  right."  she  told  her- 
self with  a  sudden  lifting  of  spirit  as  she  went  to 
find  the  flower  scissors.  An  hour  later  she  was 

259 


OPEN    HOUSE 

humming  to  herself  as  she  brought  the  vases  out 
on  the  steps  and  sat  down  before  them  with  her 
basket  of  hardy,  sweet-smelling  little  roses. 

"You  are  out  early,"  said  a  voice  from  the 
gate.  The  face  she  lifted  was  uncontrollably 
glad. 

"Oh,  Ernest!"  She  started  up,  the  roses 
tumbling  about  her;  then  she  remembered,  and 
effaced  the  "moment  with  a  cordial,  "How  very 
nice  to  see  you  back,"  and  an  outstretched  hand. 

"It  is  good  to  be  here,"  he  assented  in  the 
same  key.  He  looked  as  thin  and  tired  as  she 
did  herself  when  the  glow  of  meeting  had  faded. 

"Have  you  been  off  in  the  country?"  she  asked 
with  polite  interest. 

"Yes;  a  long  way."  He  dropped  down  at  the 
other  end  of  her  step,  his  back  against  the  pillar, 
looking  at  her,  as  he  so  often  had,  over  his  clasped 
knee.  "How  is  the  doctor?" 

"Rather  tired  and  rushed,  dear  soul.  Miss 
Snell  has  been  ill." 

"Too  bad,"  absently. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  a  blow  for  you,"  Ann  went 
on  brightly. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  have,"  he  muttered,  wincing, 
but  she  did  not  hear. 

"I  have  not  been  told  it,  but  I  think  Miss 
Joyce  is  going  away."  It  was  spoken  with 

260 


OPEN    HOUSE 

decently  regretful  sympathy.  "I  happened  to 
see  that  her  trunks  are  all  packed." 

"Is  that  all  the  blow  I'm  to  get?" 

"Isn't  it  enough?" 

"Well,  you  can  tell  me  when  you  get  ready. 
Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  doing  ?  —  In- 
vestigating a  chance  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  sum- 
mer in  a  boys'  camp.  A  man  I  "know  runs  it, 
and  he  is  only  too  glad  to  have  me  come  and 
help.  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  good  scheme?" 

"You  will  go  away  —  altogether?"  Ann's 
pride,  always  of  a  flimsy  order,  collapsed  without 
a  struggle  before  the  shock  of  the  news.  Her 
voice  was  despairing.  He  looked  intently  into 
her  face. 

"Ann,  do  you  know  why  I  went?"  he  de- 
manded, leaning  towards  her.  A  motion  of  her 
bent  head  answered.  "I  thought  I  had  suddenly 
seen  the  truth,  and  that  I  had  been  a  blind  ass 
not  to  see  it  before  —  that  you  cared  for  Dr. 
Diman." 

"Cared  for  —  that  way?"  Her  amazement 
needed  no  further  denial. 

"But  I  saw  you  last  Friday  night,  you  and 
him—" 

"Do  you  mean  when  I  was  crying?"  she  asked 
after  a  puzzled  moment. 

"Were  you  crying?"  .  He  brushed  aside  the 
261 


OPEN    HOUSE ' 

flowers  that  lay  between  them.    "I  didn't  know 
that." 

"I  love  him  —  perhaps  better  than  anyone 
on  earth,"  she  explained  gravely;  "but  —  but 
not —  Oh,  how  could  you  think  such  a  thing!" 

"Well,  it  is  because  I  couldn't  quite  go  on 
thinking  it  that  I  came  back.  There  were  things, 
little  things,  that  I  couldn  't  forget  or  ignore  - 
you  are  so  true,  Ann  Blossom !  So  I  had  to  come 
back  for  an  explanation.  Why  were  you  cry- 
ing?" he  added  suddenly.  The  colour  swept  up 
into  her  transparent  face,  and  he  laughed,  put- 
ting his  arm  along  the  step  behind  her.  "Ann 
Blossom,  why  did  you  cry?"  he  insisted. 

She  curled  into  the  arm  as  inevitably  as  thirsty 
ground  drinks  up  water.  Her  shining  face  was 
lifted  for  a  breathless,  "Oh,  Ernest!"  before  it 
was  hidden  against  his.  "Things  sometimes  do 
come  right,"  she  marvelled  in  an  inarticulate  little 
murmur. 

The  scattered  roses  were  drooping  and  the  vases 
still  stood  in  an  empty  row  when  Miss  Myrtle's 
lamentations,  preceding  her  hurrying  skirts,  drove 
the  two  on  the  step  to  guilty  activity. 

"What  else  can  we  expect,  with  a  loony - 
and  I  having  to  go  off  just  as  —  never  mind  the 
flowers  now,  Ann,  there  is  no  time  to  —  Oh,  how 
do  you  do,   Mr.  Cunningham?    I  am  glad  to 

262 


OPEN    HOUSE 

see  you  back,  but  you  won't  get  much  breakfast. 
That  Frenchman  has  gone  raving  crazy!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Myrtle!"  Ann  looked  frightened. 
"Where  is  he  —  what  is  he  doing?" 

"He's  sitting  like  a  log  in  the  sun  at  the  back 
door,  and  the  fire  not  so  much  as  started !  Hattie 
came  and  told  me  —  she  couldn't  do  anything 
with  him,  and  now  Caspar  is  trying  his  hand. 
I  must  say  when  it  comes  to  a  crazy  cook — ! 
Ironing  day,  of  course.  And  Aunt  Jennie  laid 
up  with  rheumatism  and  wanting  me  —  she  has 
just  telephoned.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Do 
you  think  you  could  set  the  table?" 

"Why,  of  course!" 

"Well,  please  don't  forget  the  tile  under  the  hot 
milk,  this  time;  I  haven't  got  that  mark  off  the 
table  yet."  And  Miss  Myrtle  hastened  towards 
the  kitchen,  sweeping  Ann  along  with  her  —  a 
radiant,  singing  Ann.  Caspar,  hearing  her  a 
little  later,  paused  at  the  dining-room  door. 

"Well,  hello!"  he  commented.    She  flew  to  him. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Diman,  he's  come  back,"  she  whis- 
pered. "And  —  and  he  wasn't  even  dazzled. 
It's  all  right,  dearest!" 

His  smile  was  as  warm-hearted  as  the  arms  he 
put  about  her.  "Bless  you,  Ann!"  he  exclaimed. 
Then  they  both  laughed  at  Miss  Myrtle's  abrupt 
halt  and  shocked  countenance. 

263 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"He  is  just  wishing  me  joy,  Miss  Myrtle,"  Ann 
explained.  "Won't  you,  too?  It's  Ernest!" 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy," 
Miss  Myrtle  admitted.  She  evidently  tried  to 
stop  there,  but  her  feelings  were  too  much  for 
her.  "Though  how  you  two  will  ever  manage 
to  run  a  house!"  she  burst  forth. 

Their  laugh  was  echoed  in  the  great  hall. 
Cassandra,  who  had  just  greeted  Ernest  rather 
constrainedly,  turned  swiftly  back  to  him  with 
outstretched  hand  and  face  vividly  lighted. 

"So  I  was  all  wrong?"  she  said. 

"All  wrong,"  he  repeated,  his  pleasant  brown 
eyes  gladly  responsive. 

Ronsard  continued  to  sit  peacefully  in  the  sun. 
When  questioned,  he  listened  with  strained  atten- 
tion, but  clouded  eyes,  and  answered  with  his 
pathetic  deference: 

"I  am  an  old  man  —  I  forget."  Miss  Myrtle 
was  in  despair  at  leaving,  and  her  brother  showed 
a  flattering  reluctance  to  losing  her. 

"Come  back  the  minute  Aunt  Jennie  can 
spare  you,"  he  urged,  and  re-entered  the  house 
with  the  air  of  having  shouldered  a  load.  Cas- 
sandra had  come  down  late,  and  they  met  as 
though  there  had  been  no  last  night.  She  was 
told  of  Ronsard 's  collapse. 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  have  the  old  boy  shut 
264 


OPEN    HOUSE 

up,"  he  added,  "and  I  think  if  you  were  to  reas- 
sure him  in  his  own  tongue,  he  might  be  less  upset 
by  the  change.  Would  you  mind  trying?" 

"But  why  can't  he  stay?"  she  urged.  "If 
he  seems  peaceful  and  harmless.  There  is  plenty 
of  room." 

He  hesitated.  "I  don't  want  to  worry  you,"  he 
said  finally.  "He  seems  perfectly  harmless,  yet 
just  now  I  found  the  carving  knife,  the  little, 
sharp  one,  up  in  his  room.  That  made  me  feel 
that  he  ought  to  be  watched.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
his  hurting  anyone  but  himself,  of  course,"  he 
added,  for  Cassandra  was  looking  at  him  with 
startled  eyes. 

She  turned  away,  stunned  by  a  new  suspicion. 
Ronsard's  feverish  desire  to  prevent  her  going 
out  with  Burnett  had  been  forgotten,  shrugged 
away  with  grim  amusement  for  the  suggestion 
that  she  was  a  jeune  fille,  to  be  guarded.  Now 
his  distress  came  vividly  back,  coupled  with  a 
sentence  of  Burnett's  letter:  "tyre  didn't  burst 
-  some  devil  must  have  carved  it  on  the  ferry." 
Could  the  old  chef  have  cared  as  much  as  that? 
His  absence  yesterday  afternoon  and  this  mental 
collapse  fitted  in  as  neatly  with  the  idea  as  the 
borrowed  knife.  Then  the  far-off  tragedy  of 
his  daughter  Emilie's  fate  offered  a  link  before 
which  she  shrank  in  quick  repulsion. 

265 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"If  you  are  at  all  afraid  — "  Caspar  was  say- 
ing. 

"I  am  not.  He  won't  do  anything,"  she  in- 
terrupted. "Take  the  knife  away  and  let  him 
sit  in  the  sun  as  long  as  he  can,  poor  soul!  He 
can't  last  long,  can  he?" 

Caspar  welcomed  the  suggestion.  "No;  he  may 
go  any  day,  and  I  shall  be  thankful  not  to  disturb 
him  if  it  is  fair  to  the  rest  of  you." 

"I  want  to  be  very  good  to  him,"  she  said  with 
unexpected  vehemence. 

Hattie  took  the  chef's  place;  but  one  meal  of 
her  cooking  was  more  than  enough.  For  years 
she  had  seen  Ronsard  perform  delicate  miracles 
of  broiling;  yet,  entrusted  with  lamb  chops,  her 
one  idea  was  to  fry  them  long  and  thoroughly 
and  serve  them  well  chilled.  Miss  Snell,  finding 
a  clinging  milk-skin  in  her  cocoa,  left  the  table 
in  shuddering  horror,  and,  as  Ann  and  Ernest 
had  forgotten  to  come,  Cassandra  was  left  alone 
with  the  dismayed  housekeeper. 

"I  suppose  Ronsard  has  spoiled  us,"  he  ad- 
mitted, after  a  conscientious  attempt  to  eat  some 
hopelessly  sour  stewed  plums.  "I  don't  see  how 
we  can  stand  many  such  meals." 

"Why  should  we?"  she  returned.  "I  will  go 
up  to  town  this  afternoon,  if  you  like,  and  find 
us  a  good  cook."  The  "us"  sounded  natural 

266 


OPEN    HOUSE 

and  unconscious,  and  her  face  was  wholly  com- 
posed under  his  keen  glance.  Before  he  could 
bring  out  the  difficult  question  in  words,  she  had 
started  to  her  feet.  "If  I  am  quick,  I  can  catch 
the  one-forty,"  she  added,  and  hurried  away, 
leaving  the  question  still  suspended  between  them. 
She  came  back  triumphantly  at  six  o'clock  with 
a  Scotch-Irish  treasure  and  an  engagement  pres- 
ent for  Ann  —  a  chain  of  amethysts  that  caused 
the  girl  to  look  troubled  after  her  first  wild  enthu- 
siasm. 

"But  —  you  shouldn't  have,"  she  faltered. 

"But  I  should,"  returned  Cassandra.  "I  have 
had  —  some  money  left  me,  and  this  is  my  first 
purchase.  You  won't  enjoy  it  half  as  much  as 
I  did." 

"Oh,  won't  I?"  Ann  kissed  the  shining  chain 
and  squeezed  Cassandra's  hand.  "I  am  so 
glad  for  you.  I 'hope  it  is  enough  to  give  you 
everything  you  want." 

"Everything  I  want  to  buy,"  she  assented. 

"That  is  lovely.  Now  I  can  be  perfectly  happy 
about  my  darling  chain;  it's  just  like  liquid  sun- 
light. And  then,  to  have  it  from  you!  Isn't  it 
wonderful,  how  things  come  right?" 

"It  really  is,"  Cassandra  laughed.  She  felt 
very  kindly  towards  Ann  Blossom. 

After  dinner,  Dr.  Diman  went  bravely  out  to 
267 


OPEN    HOUSE 

interview  the  new  cook.  He  came  back  looking 
uncomfortable. 

"She  is  an  excellent  woman,  excellent,"  he 
assured  Cassandra. 

"You  didn't  like  her!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did;  I  respected  her  enormously. 
She  was  kind  to  me,  but,  someway,  she  made  me 
feel  that  my  sole  office  was  to  pay  the  bills." 

"But  isn't  that  just  what  you  want  —  freedom 
from  interruption?" 

"Of  course.  But  how  can  I  tell  Myrtle  I  did 
the  housekeeping  if  I  don't  dare  go  near  the 
kitchen?" 

Cassandra's  laugh  was  wicked.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve that  Miss  Myrtle  will  go  near  the  kitchen 
very  much.  Janet  is,  as  you  say,  kind;  but  she 
is  definite." 

"Very  definite.  She  intimated  that  she  would 
see  me  for  ten  minutes  every  morning,  and  that 
I  need  give  myself  no  further  trouble." 

"And  yet  you  are  not  satisfied,"  she  com- 
plained. 

"Yes,  I  am.  Only  I  feel  mortified.  I  have  a 
suspicion  that  I  rather  slunk  out  of  the  kitchen. 
Do  you  think,  if  I  strode  back  and  talked  in  a 
loud  voice,  it  would  wipe  out  the  impression?" 

"Never.  Your  only  hope  is  to  see  her  always 
on  your  territory;  make  her  come  to  your  office 

268 


OPEN    HOUSE 

for  orders.    In  the  kitchen  she  will  invariably 
have  the  upper  hand." 

"Oh,  poor  old  Myrtle!"  he  exclaimed,  and 
they  laughed  together.  Then  she  grew  suddenly 
grave. 

"How  heartless  I  am!"  she  said,  seating  her- 
self on  the  ledge  of  an  open  window  and  turning 
her  face  towards  the  dusky  garden.  He  took  the 
adjoining  ledge,  as  he  had  the  day  of  her  arrival, 
when  he  had  caught  his  first  glimpse  of  a  helpless 
and  homesick  girl. 

"Heartless?"  The  sympathy  in  his  voice  was 
impelling. 

"The  man  I  was  going  to  marry  has  not  been 
dead  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  am  gay  —  I  am 
happier  than  I  have  ever  been  before  in  my 
life." 

"You  were  not  going  to  marry  him!"  he  spoke 
vehemently.  "You  wrong  yourself  —  no  power 
on  earth  could  have  got  you  past  that  door." 

"No;  you  have  got  to  know  me  just  as  I  am. 
I  would  have  gone  with  him  if  he  had  come  on 
time." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  money  could  have 
made  such  a  man  tolerable  to  you?" 

"No  —  I  hated  him.  But  I  couldn't  see  any- 
thing else  to  do."  She  pressed  her  palms  over 
her  eyes.  "Oh,  it  was  horrible,  horrible!" 

269 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"I  am  glad  it  was,"  he  said  roughly,  starting 
to  his  feet.  "If  I  believed  that  you  would  really 
have  gone —  She  stopped  him  with  implor- 
ing hands. 

"Don't  say  it,  don't  say  it!  I  had  to  go  —  I 
had  lost  all  hope.  But  it  was  only  a  way  of  com- 
mitting suicide.  Can't  you  see  it  like  that? 
Can't  you  forgive  me?" 

"Answer  me  one  thing.  Can  you  conceive 
that  any  crisis,  any  hopelessness,  would  bring 
you  to  such  a  marriage  again?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!  Nothing!  Oh,  Caspar,  noth- 
ing!" 

He  took  her  hands  into  his  and  kissed  them. 

"You  would  not  have  gone,  my  girl,"  he  said. 
"You  believe  you  would,  but  you  would  not." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  that  were  true,"  she  cried  wretch- 
edly. "Do  you  think  I  ought  not  to  take  his 
money?"  she  added.  He  started;  for  the  mo- 
ment he  had  forgotten  her  new  position,  and 
the  memory  raised  a  sudden  barrier  between 
them. 

"Why  not?"  he  returned  dispassionately, 
after  a  blank  pause.  "If,  as  you  insist,  you 
would  have  gone  with  him,  you  have  every  right 
to  it." 

"And  if  I  would  not  have?"  she  asked,  hurt 
and  chilled  by  the  change  in  him. 

270 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"That  is  rather  a  complex  question.  Why 
raise  it?  He  wanted  you  to  have  it,  and  it  gives 
you  what  you  most  want,  —  your  freedom.  I 
should  take  it  and  be  happy."  He  left  her  to 
answer  the  telephone,  and  did  not  come  back. 

The  days  went  by,  and  still  Cassandra  said 
nothing  about  going.  She  quietly  took  over  the 
housekeeping,  saw  that  Ronsard  was  comfort- 
able in  his  gentle  vacantness  and  that  Miss  Snell's 
wants  were  supplied,  and  brought  a  new  sense 
of  orderly  ease  into  the  establishment.  Ann  in 
her  radiant  happiness  was  of  no  slightest  practical 
use,  so  Cassandra  quietly  provided  a  young  girl 
assistant,  and  the  household  routine  went  forward 
with  a  silent  smoothness  that  filled  Caspar  with 
amazement  and  gratitude.  The  troubled  ques- 
tion never  quite  left  his  eyes,  but  she  gave  him 
no  chance  to  ask  it.  She  was  very  alert  and  satis- 
fied these  days,  proud  of  her  new-found  capabil- 
ities, buoyed  with  a  secret  gladness  that  vibrated 
sometimes  in  her  deep,  rapid  voice,  or  shone  out 
thinly  veiled  as  amusement  in  her  straight  glance. 
Caspar  could  make  nothing  of  her,  and  lost 
weight  visibly  in  the  effort  to  wait  in  silent  pa- 
tience. All  his  serene  faith  in  his  own  dominance 
over  the  course  of  events  had  been  taken  from 
him  on  the  night  when  he  and  she  had  waited 
together  for  Burnett's  coming  —  and  forgotten 

271 


OPEN    HOUSE 

him.  Before  that,  he  had  seen  clearly  enough 
what  the  future  might  bring,  had  debated  its 
consequences  and  been  content  to  wait.  Now 
he  was  sure  of  nothing  but  the  overwhelming 
desire  of  his  heart ;  cared  for  nothing  but  the  hope 
that  it  might  be  satisfied. 

She  worked  very  hard.  He  had  not  given  her 
the  promised  business  papers,  but  she  seemed 
to  have  found  them  for  herself  and  to  have  taken 
hold  of  his  affairs  with  a  firm  grasp.  He  pro- 
tested at  last. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  exclaimed  when  he  had 
found  her,  one  late  afternoon,  bending  over  some 
accounts  with  the  flushed  cheeks  of  weariness. 
"I  can't  have  a  young  woman  of  wealth  slaving 
over  my  puny  rents  and  dividends." 

She  did  not  look  up.  "If  you  are  paid  thirty 
dollars  a  month,  you  have  to  earn  a  dollar  a 
day,"  she  reminded  him,  a  mischievous  twist  of 
her  lips  belying  her  gravity. 

"No  doubt;  but  you  need  not  earn  three  times 
that  amount.  Come  and  take  a  walk  with  me." 

Her  pen  still  travelled  busily  down  the  columns 
of  figures.  "If  you  are  in  the  business  world, 
the  first  law  is  that  you  deliver  the  goods,"  she 
murmured.  He  had  to  laugh. 

"Don't!  Did  I  really  dare  say  all  that  to 
you?" 

272 


OPEN    HOUSE 

"'Dare'?  How  affected  of  you!  Is  there 
anything  on  earth  that  you  wouldn't  dare  say?" 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear,  there  is;"  with  a 
meaningful  emphasis  that  sent  her  eyes  hastily 
back  to  the  accounts.  "Haven't  you  seen  me 
trying  for  a  week?" 

"A  week  isn't  very  long." 

"Not  to  middle  age,  perhaps."  They  laughed 
at  the  allusion.  "I  am  young,  Cassandra!  Don't 
you  believe  it  now?" 

The  running  sap  seemed  to  start  in  the  desk 
under  her  elbows  and  the  floor  beneath  her  feet. 
"Are  you  rash  and  selfish  and  unwise?"  she 
insisted. 

"Ah,  I  don't  want  to  be  unwise  for  you!  That 
is  just  the  trouble." 

The  pause  that  followed  depressed  and  fright- 
ened her.  She  caught  blindly  at  another  topic. 

"Miss  Myrtle  is  coming  back  to-morrow,"  she 
reminded  him. 

"But  not  as  housekeeper.  Never  again!"  he 
declared.  "Though  what  we  shall  do  when 
you  — ' 

"You  will  hurt  her  feelings." 

"Why,  hasn't  she  been  wailing  for  years — " 

"She  will  be  hurt,  just  the  same.  I  will  tell 
you  —  promote  her  to  be  keeper  of  the  linen  in 
the  new  sanitorium.  That  will  give  her  just 

273 


OPEN    HOUSE 

about  trouble  enough.  Don't  you  think  we  can 
have  it  done  by  Christmas,  if  we  go  right  to 
work?"  She  was  drawing  little  plans  on  the 
back  of  an  envelope  with  anxious  pains. 

"But  am  I  in  a  position  to  undertake  it?" 

"Why,  I  will  put  it  through  for  you."  She 
tried  desperately  to  say  it  casually.  "As  for  the 
money,  you  know  I  have-  The  sentence 
trailed  off  abstractedly,  as  she  drew  a  staircase 
with  minute  care.  He  made  no  answer.  "Un- 
less —  you  have  a  feeling  —  against  that  money?" 
she  added  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why,  I  don't  suppose  I  should  care  to  profit 
by  it  personally,"  he  admitted,  his  eyes  on  her 
bent  head,  "  but  as  for  the  sanitorium  —  that  is 
scarcely  a  money-making  project.  Abstractly 
speaking,  I  don't  see  why  it  should  not  accept 
any  legitimate  endowment." 

"Then  you  will  let  me  go  ahead  with  it?"  she 
asked  eagerly. 

He  would  have  no  more  pretence.  He  took 
pencil  and  paper  away  from  her. 

"That  is  a  wholly  different  matter.  It  would 
use  up  the  greater  part  of  your  little  fortune. 
Why  should  you  do  that?" 

"  Because  I  —  I  don't  quite  like  that  money." 

"It  means  your  freedom." 

"No.  It  means  that  —  I  would  have  gone 
274 


OPEN    HOUSE 

with  him."  A  deep  flush  swept  over  her  face. 
"I  can't  bear  that  thought  —  it  scorches  me!" 

His  hands  closed  over  hers.  "My  dear,  your 
own  world,  the  world  you  missed  so  bitterly,  is 
open  to  you  now.  Inevitably,  you  will  want  to 
go  back  to  it." 

"No."  Her  eyes  looked  straight  into  his  at 
last. 

"There  is  only  one  way  you  can  stay,  dearest." 

"There  is  only  one  way  I  want  to  stay." 

"You  are  sure,  my  girl  —  sure?" 

She  drew  him  closer.  "Oh,  Caspar,  I  have 
been  sure  for  so  long!" 

Later,  Ann  and  Ernest,  walking  together  in 
the  garden,  passed  beneath  the  window.  A 
little  rush  of  warm  laughter  from  Ann  brought  a 
troubled  frown  to  Cassandra's  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  am  not  sweet  and  kind,  like  that.  I 
never  shall  be  —  you  know  it,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  said  contentedly.  "I 
don't  quarrel  with  an  eagle  because  it  isn't  a 
song  bird,  my  girl." 

"She  would  give  you  a  great  deal  more  sym- 
pathy about  the  individual  patients,"  Cassandra 
went  on  with  a  surprising  touch  of  wistful  humility. 
"But,  Caspar  dear,  she  couldn't  run  things  for 
you  as  I  can  —  oh,  you  know  that!"  There  were 
actually  tears  in  her  eyes.  A  sudden  memory  of 

275 


OPEN    HOUSE 

her  as  she  sat  in  that  very  chair  her  first  day, 
frankly  impatient  of  him  and  all  his  works,  made 
him  laugh  to  himself  and  gather  her  breathlessly 
close. 

"Oh,   my   Cassandra,   how  the  mighty  have 
fallen!"  he  murmured. 


276 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

NEW,  CLEVER,  ENTERTAINING. 

GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent with  the  wild  life— until  love  comes.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 
vention. 

OLD   CHESTER   TALES.     By  Margaret  Deland.     Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeating  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.    By  Josephine  Daskam.    Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbapies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.  A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 

REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.     Illustrated 

by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 

THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fishet 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  «f  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.    By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "  Brer  Rabbit's  Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 

THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul — a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehra. 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  ".of.Wall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.  ,  NEW  YORK 


GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himself  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  he  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  fa 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci- 
ent lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus- 
trated by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  C9mes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman :  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism 

THE  SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven- 
turesome spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE   SCARLET   PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus- 
trated with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri- 
ous as  the  hero. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.  ,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUN  LAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

CY  WVHITTAKER'S  PLACE.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
derly bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.  Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.    Illustrated  by  H.  Sand.ham. 
A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.     A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search- 
ing analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 
THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this>omance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 

THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 
An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
sort, where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.    By  Clara  Louise   Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.    The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blase  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER.  A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.  With  illustrations  by  C.  W. 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 

One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.  It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.  Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.  Dramatized,  it  made  the  great- 
est rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humor, 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven- 
tures" a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus- 
trated by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA  OF  THE  AIR  LANES.  By  Herbert 
Quick.  Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 

The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass  " 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.  An  exciting  tale  01  adventure  in  midair. 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.     By  Eleanor  M. 

Ingram.    Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap- 
ture and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.    A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.  ,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  sudden  possession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  rooted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  earthy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels, 
author  of  "  Bruvver  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  N. 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi- 
tions of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada. 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no- 
bility and  courage  of  character,  and  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  know. 

THE  MESSAGE.     By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 

C.  Chase. 

A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure- 
head from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  with  breathless  interest. 

THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.  By  David  M.  Parry.  Illus- 
trations by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  into  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  man  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad- 
ventures but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE.  By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur 
Hornblqw.  Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  police 
system. 

The  son  of  an  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities  that,  later 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  of  a  dissipated  life. 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  sense 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT.  By  Brand  Whitlock. 
A  realistic  western  story  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
of  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraordi- 
nary vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  the  tu- 
mult of  the  political  arena  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

THE  MUSIC  MASTER.    By  Charles  Klein.     Illustrated 

by  John  Rae. 

This  marvelously  vivid  narrative  turns  upon  the  search  of  a  Ger- 
man musician  in  JNew  York  for  his  little  daughter.  Mr.  Klein  has 
well  portrayed  his  pathetic  struggle  with  poverty,  his  varied  expe- 
riences in  endeavoring  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  public  not  trained 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  classic,  and  his  final  great  hour  when,  in 
the  rapidly  shifting  events  of  a  big  city,  his  litde  daughter,  now  a 
beautifnl  young  woman,  is  brought  to  his  very  door.  A  superb  bit 
of  fiction,  palpitating  with  the  life  of  the  great  metropolis.  The 
play  in  which  David  Warfi eld  scored  his  highest  success. 

DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEpPLE.      By    Margaret  Deland. 

Illustrated  by  Lucius  Hitchcock. 

Mrs.  Deland  won  so  many  friends  through  Old  Chester  Tales 
that  this  volume  needs  no  introduction  beyond  its  title.  The  lova- 
ble doctor  is  more  ripened  in  this  later  book,  and  the  simple  come- 
dies and  tragedies  of  the  old  village  are  told  with  dramatic  charm. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 

by  Howard  Pyle. 

Stories  portraying  with  delightful  humor  and  pathos  a  quaint  peo- 
ple in  a  sleepy  old  town.  Dr.  Lavendar,  a  very  human  and  lovable 
"preacher,"  is  the  connecting  link  between  these  dramatic  stories 
from  life. 

HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE.    By  E.  P.  Roe. 
With  frontispiece. 

The  hero  is  a  farmer— a  man  with  honest,  sincere  views  of  life. 
Beieft  of  his  wife,  his  home  is  cared  for  by  a  succession  of  domes- 
tics of  varying  degrees  of  inefficiency  until,  from  a  most  unpromis- 
ing source,  comes  a  young  woman  who  not  only  becomes  his  wife 
but  commands  his  respect  and  eventually  wins  his  love.  A  bright 
and  delicate  romance,  revealing  on  both  sides  a  love  that  surmounts 
all  difficulties  and  survives  the  censure  of  friends  as  well  as  the  bit- 
terness of  enemies. 
THE  YOKE.  By  Elizabeth  Miller. 

Against  the  historical  background  of  the  days  when  the  children 
of  Israel  were  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  the  author  has 
sketched  a  romance  of  compelling  charm.  A  biblical  novel  as  great 
as  any  since  "  Ben  Hur." 

SAUL  OF  TARSUS.    By  Elizabeth  Miller.    Illustrated  by 

Andre*  Castaigne. 

The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  Jerusalem,  Alexandria,  Rome 
and  Damascus.  The  Apostle  Paul,  the  Martyr  Stephen,  Herod 
Agrippa  and  the  Emperors  Tiberius  and  Caligula  are  among  the 
mighty  figures  that  move  through  the  pages.  Wonderful  descrip- 
tions, and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  religious  romance. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.  ,  NEW  YORK 


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